To Err Is Human
by ImaginaryFriendless
Summary: The Boy-Who-Lived is thrown back into the "loving" arms of the Dursleys the summer after fifth year. Harry has a lot of thinking to do.
1. Default Chapter

**Disclaimer**: Obviously, I didn't write the Harry Potter series. J.K. Rowling is responsible for those masterpieces, and I will always worship her for it. Please don't sue me. I'm already poor and my mom would yell at me.

**Author's note:** Please have mercy. This is a very short chapter, and my first ever. I know it's not very good, but I do hope to improve. Any advice, comments, ideas, etc… are gratefully accepted, or at least considered. Thanks for reading!

**Chapter 1: Homecoming**

It was on a day of suffocating heat that Harry Potter once again found himself in the driveway of Number Four Privet Drive. A small part of his consciousness reminded him that he should feel anger at once again being abandoned in this muggle hell, but in his current state of emotional and physical exhaustion, Harry felt strangely apathetic.

The effects of many sleepless nights and poor verging on non-existent eating habits were quickly taking their toll on his body. Harry's fifth year at Hogwarts had been the most stressful by far, and became nearly unmanageable after Sirius… Harry abruptly stopped that train of thought. To actually contemplate the truth of what had happened would be to make it real. He was saved from further thought on the subject by a loud pounding on the window his forehead was resting against.

"…will not have you ignoring me regardless of what your freak friends threaten! Get out!" Vernon Dursley bellowed, his face becoming purpler with every passing second. "If you don't open this door and bring your FREAK things inside in the next five seconds, I'll pull you out myself and knock the stuffing out of you!"

Rolling his eyes, Harry took his time wrenching the door open. He carefully stood up and proceeded to stretch out his arms and legs and kneaded his aching neck. Deciding to test his Uncle's patience (and therein the power of the Order's threat as well), Harry leaned back against the car, yawned loudly, and began to clean his glasses with the corner of his shirt.

Uncle Vernon, now quaking with fury, seemed to be fighting an inner battle between ignoring his nephew's insolent behavior or beating Harry to a bloody pulp and risking an invasion of stick-wielding freaks. He settled for a swift and strong slap to the back of Harry's head, and stomped off toward the house where an anxious looking Petunia and a hateful-looking walrus resembling Harry's cousin Dudley stood waiting. Obviously, even a man as eerily frightening and _obviously _abnormal as Mad-Eye Moody wasn't enough to quell the Dursleys' disgust of Harry.

Harry shrugged uncaringly and turned to retrieve Hedwig from the backseat. "Well, Girl? What do you say? Ready for another lovely summer with our favorite muggle family?" Hedwig just stared at him as if he belonged in St. Mungo's Mental Ward.

That night, Harry lay on his bed fiddling with the pieces of a camcorder Dudley had destroyed a year before. Attempting to fix it was probably a lost cause, but it gave him something to do. Besides, Harry mused, he had a better shot at mending the camcorder than he did the disaster that was his life.

An hour later, Harry flopped over onto his back and began to stare at the ceiling. His mind was beginning to lose its focus, and he knew that all the broken toys in the world could not keep him awake when it was now three days since he had last slept. He wished he had some Dreamless Sleep potion, or caffeine pills, or even the legal use of his wand so he could at least cast a silencing charm on himself to muffle the sound of the screams that were sure to come. Harry knew, however, that summers at Privet Drive did not allow for such luxuries. He was as alone now as he had been before he had ever heard of magic, Hogwarts, and the man called Sirius Black. And it was with the smothering guilt and grief associated with his godfather that Harry dropped off into a fitful sleep.

_Harry was running through the Department of Mysteries with Hermione, Ron, Ginny, Neville, and Luna in hot pursuit.__ He turned a corner and found himself face to face with Bellatrix Lestrange and countless other faceless Death Eaters. Harry reached for his wand, but to his surprise, found it missing._

_Lestrange cackled wickedly. "Little baby Potter has forgotten his wand! Why, I'm sorry, little Harry, but you can't play with the big kids unless you bring the right toys…We'll be happy to include your little friends in our game though…" The mass of Death Eaters echoed her laughter._

_Hermione lifted her wand and made to curse Bellatrix. Before a word escaped her lips, however, the Death Eater giggled "Crucio", and she collapsed to the ground with screams born of unimaginable pain. _

_"NO!" shouted Harry desperately. He tried to attack Lestrange with his bare hands, and found himself frozen to the spot. Unable to move, he was forced to watch as the rest of the Death Eaters used various curses on his friends, his friends who he had thoughtlessly led straight into this trap. _

_Tears streamed down his face as he helplessly watched his friends writhe on the ground, and one by one, become silent and still. He closed his eyes and wished for it to just end. He wished Bellatrix or any one of Voldemort's servants would just take his life as well._

_When he reopened his eyes, he was kneeling before the eerily fluttering curtain of the very arch Sirius had fallen through. Harry gasped when a hand shot out from behind the veil and stretched about in search of something to grasp onto. Using the arch as leverage, the hand pulled until an entire body had emerged. Harry looked up and met the accusing glare of his dead mother. _

_"I gave my _life_ for you, and what do you do to repay my sacrifice? You destroy the lives of everyone your father and I cared about! You got Sirius killed, when all he wanted to do was protect you!" She shrieked._

_James Potter slowly rose to join her. Unlike his wife's pained screams, his voice was level and saturated with sadness and disappointment. "Harry, we gave up everything so that you could grow up and become a good man. How could you do this?" He shook his head sadly, "Dumbledore should never have sent you a letter. If he hadn't, Sirius wouldn't have been killed, Remus wouldn't be suffering, and your friends, those poor children, wouldn't be in danger. Hell, Voldemort would still be nothing more than a feared name if it weren't for you."_

_At this point, Harry's whole body was shuddering with sobs. Unable to meet his father's eyes, he buried his face in his hands._

_"Feeling guilty, Potter?" echoed another familiar voice. Afraid but unable to resist matching a face to the voice, Harry reluctantly glanced up at the once youthful face of Cedric Diggory. His handsome face was now twisted into a hateful, angry scowl that Harry could never have imagined on the kind Hufflepuff . "I wish _I_ could feel anything at all. But no, _famous_ Harry Potter had to have it all. Merlin forbid you only make out with the trophy; no, you had to be the HERO, the survivor who brought back the body of that poor, unfortunate Diggory boy. And to think I helped you!" Cedric cried mockingly._

_"Please, it wasn't like that…" Harry begged between sobs, "I'm sorry Cedric, please…it wasn't supposed to be like this…I didn't know…" His breath caught in his throat as he saw a final, lanky form emerging from the gaping archway. Harry knew who this was; had been expecting him from the moment he had opened his eyes to the sight of the flapping veil. "Sirius," he whispered hoarsely._

_Sirius closed his eyes sadly. Harry choked back another sob. _

_Sirius opened his eyes, but he kept his focus on the floor. When he spoke, Harry could barely even recognize his voice, for Harry had never heard his godfather speak with such a calm and deadly tone before. "Oh Harry. How could you do this to me? All I wanted to do was make things better for you. All I got was two years after Azkaban. Why couldn't you just listen to Dumbledore? You didn't even try to learn Occlumency. I could be helping undo the mess you made of the wizarding world by bringing Voldemort back if you had just made an effort to stay out of trouble, out of the way. I tried so hard to keep you safe. Harry, I LOVED you," Sirius suddenly stared straight at Harry, and his voice hardened, "I loved you, and you threw it back in my face."_

_"No, Sirius, I didn't, I loved you too," Harry cried, "Please forgive me Sirius, I'm sorry, please don't hate me, I couldn't take it if you did!" Harry was desperate now, he needed Sirius to understand, needed his forgiveness._

_Sirius watched him, and looked to be mulling Harry's pleas over in his mind. Finally, he said, "I'm sorry, Harry, but it's too late. Nothing can take back your actions now. I'm dead because of you, dead like your parents, like Cedric, and like many more soon to follow. It's time for you to go; you can't stay here any longer." _

_"No, I can't go now, please, you have to understand! I didn't want any of this to happen! I thought I was helping you, PLEASE LISTEN! Please stay," Harry sobbed, but even as he screamed and cried and begged, he could feel the world around him begin to fade. The edges of his vision blurred and darkened until all that remained was the accusing glares of four people he had failed the most. _

As the nightmare faded, Harry slowly regained consciousness with the help of some rough slaps and the shouting of several voices. He was not surprised to open his eyes to the sight of his furious uncle; arm raised and prepared to administer another hard smack to Harry's already sore cheek. Behind him, Aunt Petunia crouched fearfully over her whale of a son, caressing his disheveled blond hair and glaring daggers at Harry. Dudley simply looked annoyed and angry at being awoken.

Still in shock but in terrible need of privacy to think over the dream, Harry swiped a hand across his face to dry his tears. Looking up at Uncle Vernon, whose hand was still raised, Harry quietly and hoarsely said, "Thanks, but if that'll be all, you can all go back to bed now." With that, he sat up, pulled his knees to his chest, and attempted to get his breathing under control.

"IF THAT WILL BE…GO BACK TO..." Vernon spluttered, "WHAT DO YOU MEAN BY THIS BOY, WAKING US UP IN THE MIDDLE OF THE NIGHT WITH YOUR PATHETIC SCREAMING?!?"

Harry just blinked at him, still disoriented and wondering what his uncle was still doing in his room. There was a long silence as Vernon Dursley just stared at his nephew, trying to decide whether Harry was serious or not. Before his uncle could become any more furious or violent, Harry spoke up.

"If it would help you rest more peacefully, I could summon my friend with the bowler hat to cast a spell on me to put me in an enchanted sleep. He'll be wondering how my first day back for the summer went, anyway. I could kill two birds with one stone, so to speak." Harry ground out in a voice rough from sleep and exhaustion.

The mere mention of Mad-Eye Moody had Harry's desired effect on Uncle Vernon. As quickly as the purple shade of the man's face changed to white, all intentions of maiming his nephew were forgotten. Besides, what good would strangling the boy into blessedly silent unconsciousness do if violent freaks broke down the doors mere moments later? While any scenario involving his nephew would doubtless be unpleasant, the idea of more of the boy's kind entering the Dursley household was downright unthinkable.

Decision made, Vernon turned and ushered his wife and son back into the hallway. He paused in the doorway and glared back at Harry once more. "I will be generous and let your rude disruption slide tonight. However, I suggest that you either find a way to sleep in silence like a _normal_ human being, or find a new place to sleep!" Harry barely registered the slamming of the door as he settled back into the lumpy bed. He briefly entertained the idea of taking the latter part of his uncle's advice before his thoughts were turned back to the dark contents of his nightmare.


	2. The Loneliest Person I Know

Disclaimer: Obviously, I didn't write the Harry Potter series. J.K. Rowling is responsible for those masterpieces, and I will always worship her for it. Please don't sue me. I'm already poor and my mom would yell at me.  
  
Author's Notes:  
  
Wow! Thanks so much to my four reviewers, I really appreciate it. Omagic, your advice is extremely helpful and your encouragement was wonderful. By the way, I have been a reader of Harry Potter and the Fire of Life from the beginning (I'm even a member of your Yahoo Group). Great story! You are one of my role models, so you can imagine what it meant to me that you gave me such a great review. Also, thanks to kateydidnt (btw I've seen you reviewing around some of my favorite stories, so your review of mine was also a nice surprise), dancer891234567789 (don't worry, I'll try to get to make the point of the story clear soon), and Providence-of-a-Sparrow (right on with the title)!  
  
Also, I'm going to try something that the wonderful author TiniTinuviel does. Since some of my inspiration comes from songs, I will use song titles for chapter names from here on out. Tini, if you are reading this and my use of your idea bothers you in anyway, just let me know and I'll stop. Anyway, if anybody can name the band that plays the song I use, please put it in a review! The most I can do to reward you is recognize you in the next chapter, but I'd like to know if anybody is listening to the same music as me!  
  
Now, on with the story...  
  
Chapter Two: The Loneliest Person I Know  
  
Harry was out of bed and preparing breakfast for the Dursleys by six-thirty in the morning. His sleep after the dream had been fitful and interrupted, and he was sure the dark circles under his eyes were now more pronounced. Before his thoughts could be drawn back into the sounds of his parents' and godfather's disappointed scolding and his friends' tortured screams, Harry whipped out the ingredients for French toast and began mixing the batter. As he dipped slices of bread in the eggy mixture, he couldn't help but muse that he was becoming an expert at evading his own unpleasant thoughts. If only I was half as good at emptying my thoughts as I am at diverting them, I would have no trouble at all with Occlumency.  
  
Harry was slapping several slices of French toast onto the skillet to cook when an idea came to him. Perhaps instead of emptying his mind, he could simply train it to focus intently on something that didn't present any information of use to Voldemort. Harry pictured the "Dark Lord" trying to get a glimpse of his memories and then throwing a hissy fit when all he could discern was the image of French toast sizzling on a muggle stovetop. He was surprised to hear a low chuckle escape his throat at the thought.  
  
"Finally gone nutters, have you cousin? Laughing with the voices in your head?" snickered Dudley, who was still so alarmingly obese that his whole body quivered with the simple effort of speaking.  
  
Harry was surprised his cousin had worked up the courage to attempt to insult him after last summer. For awhile, he thought Dudley's encounter with the Dementors had changed him. Of course, it was probably more stupidity and family tradition fueling Dudley's mouth than audacity.  
  
"Yes, well, the voices were just telling me how even they wouldn't be caught dead associating with you. Speaking of which, do you have girlfriend, Dudley?" Harry asked, straight-faced.  
  
Dudley looked very confused for a few moments, and Harry could practically see the wheels turning in his hog-like head. Finally, it seemed that Dudley had registered the words as an insult even though he didn't understand the meaning. However, before he could retaliate, Aunt Petunia marched into the kitchen and began doting on him.  
  
Harry's presence was completely ignored throughout the course of breakfast, which suited him just fine. The fact that he had fixed the entire meal unasked also went unnoticed. Uncle Vernon was the only person to acknowledge Harry's existence, and that was only to assign an enormous list of chores to be completed by the time he returned from work.  
  
Several hours later, Harry was sweating profusely with the effort of weeding the garden under the blisteringly hot sun. Aunt Petunia was out shopping alone, under the delusion that her precious son was helping Pier's mother polish her silver. Harry was pretty sure that was code for Dudley and Pier's stealing his mother's silver to pawn off for extra pounds for cigarettes.  
  
Contrary to what Uncle Vernon certainly thought, Harry rather enjoyed having an impossible list of chores to complete. It guaranteed he would have very little time to contemplate the severe degree to which his life sucked. Running himself ragged imitating a house elf also made it difficult to analyze all of his flaws and all the ways he had failed his friends, family, and the wizarding world as a whole.  
  
So furiously was Harry uprooting and tossing weeds that he failed to notice Nymphadora Tonks walking up to him. She took two handfuls of dirt and dandelions to the face before clearing her throat to catch his attention. Harry was turned around with his wand aimed for the space directly between her eyes a millisecond later. Tonks was taken aback by his speed and the glint of anger and determination in his eyes, and immediately raised her hands in a calming motion.  
  
"Whoa there, young Auror," said Tonks. Convinced now that he wasn't going to curse her, she lowered her hands and smiled at the edgy young man. "Wotcher, Harry. You're well on your way to becoming the son Mad-Eye Moody never knew he always wanted."  
  
Harry's expression clearly stated his opinion that she was slightly off her rocker. He lowered his wand and heaved a sigh. "Sorry Tonks. I guess I am a little jumpy."  
  
"Well, I suppose the Boy-Who-Lived can't be too careful," she replied nonchalantly. "Anyway, I won't ask how you've been. I can tell just by looking at you."  
  
Harry couldn't work up the will to look offended. He knew it was true. Even with the beginnings of what promised to be a painful sunburn, his skin was a pasty white. The dark smudges under his eyes were evidence of his sleepless nights, and his arms and legs trembled ever so slightly with exhaustion. Also, the devastating heat had prompted him to work shirtless and his ribs and shoulder blades stood out harshly.  
  
Harry missed the look of concern that washed over Tonks' usually sunny face as he began staring intently at his bare feet.  
  
"Look, Harry. I didn't beg the Order to let me visit you today so I could lecture you on dealing with grief and taking care of yourself and eating your vegetables and blah, blah, blah..." Tonks rolled her eyes and gathered her nerves. "Honestly, I think what you've had to go through not only in the last few months, but in your entire life is just awful. And no offense, but I've been watching these Dursleys for a little while and I can't believe they're related to you. Sorry, I'm getting off track. What I've been meaning to say is that if you ever need someone to talk to or just blow off some steam with, I'd be happy to listen. Merlin knows no one can really understand what you're feeling, but I'll do anything I can to make it easier for you. And don't worry; I'm rubbish at giving philosophical advice, so you won't feel like you're being lectured by Dumbledore or anything. The last thing you need is another teacher. I just want you to know that you're not on your own here. Plus, I know some great and bloody embarrassing stories from Sirius' younger years if you'd ever like to hear 'em," she finished with a grin.  
  
Harry just stared at her for a second. He wasn't used to being treated like an equal by any member of the Order except for Sirius. Even with Remus, Harry felt like most of what he said was being picked apart and judged until an appropriate, educational response could be found. Still, Harry wasn't sure if he was ready or if he would EVER be ready to bare his soul to another person. After all, he had grown up under the impression that no one cared or wanted to hear what he thought. Tonks, however, had a way of putting him at ease and he doubted she would ever try to make him feel foolish for sharing his troubles.  
  
Deciding he would think on her proposal, Harry afforded her a small smile and a nod. "That might be nice."  
  
A broad smile lit up Tonks' features and she nodded back. "Good then. Now, on to business. I have a message from Professor Dumbledore that you are not going to like."  
  
Harry frowned; this couldn't be good.  
  
"He asked me to tell you not to wander far from home. No further than three blocks, actually, which is where the protection wards end," Tonks said with a grimace.  
  
Harry could feel the anger building. "So it's not enough that I'm stuck here half the summer to begin with? Now I can't even set foot outside this neighborhood?" Harry nearly shouted, fists clenched.  
  
"I know, Harry, and I'm sorry. Dumbledore just doesn't think its safe..."  
  
"And safety's obviously more important than freedom, yes, don't worry. I've heard it all before," finished Harry, with a scowl.  
  
Tonks flinched, and didn't seem to know how to reply. Harry noticed her silence and immediately regretted being so harsh with her. After all, if anyone was to blame for his predicament, it was Harry himself. And Dumbledore.  
  
At the moment, Harry wasn't sure how to feel toward the Headmaster. He wanted to be able to forgive the man for ignoring him the previous year and for keeping important information from him, but at the same time he felt betrayed. After all, Harry had put complete faith in the Headmaster and had been more open with him than almost any other person in his life on several occasions. Now Harry felt foolish for blindly trusting the man. The whole time Dumbledore had been keeping secrets concerning his own life from him.  
  
Harry sighed. "I'm sorry Tonks; I shouldn't have yelled. I know it's not your fault. Professor Dumbledore didn't happen to give you an exact reason as to why I can't leave, did he?"  
  
Tonks just shook her head sheepishly.  
  
"Didn't think so," mumbled Harry, glaring off into the distance.  
  
"Harry, he's doing the best he can. The poor man's been running himself ragged trying to lead the Order and keep up with his duties as Headmaster at the same time. Plus, having to work with Fudge now is taking its toll as well. Dumbledore has to guide the silly prat through every step of putting the ministry on alert and preparing for war."  
  
Harry, still slightly angry, couldn't bring himself to feel sorry for Fudge or Dumbledore. He decided a change of subject was necessary. "How is Professor Lupin, Tonks?"  
  
It was Tonks' turn to sigh. "I suppose he's alright. He and Albus had a little disagreement on something—I'm not sure what—but I haven't seen him around Headquarters for a few days. It's been hard for him; between losing Sirius and worrying about you, he's got quite a bit on his plate at the moment. By the way, he's not your professor anymore in case you haven't noticed. You can call him Remus."  
  
Harry felt his face heat slightly at the mention of Remus being worried for him. He didn't deserve the man's concern; he had almost single-handedly wiped out every friend he had. His embarrassment was soon replaced with confusion, though. What would cause his former professor to argue with Dumbledore?  
  
Before he could continue that train of thought, Tonks spoke up again. "Well, I've got to be off soon. Auror business and all," she rolled her eyes. "Mundungus will be on guard duty tonight, so if you hear any loud noises or cursing coming from out of nowhere, don't be alarmed. I'll see you soon; in the meantime, take care of yourself." Harry stood up to see her off, brushing dirt and grass off his pants.  
  
"Oh! Before I forget..." She fumbled in her robes and her hands came out holding a stoppered bottle. "I managed to glean some Dreamless Sleep potion off Madam Pompfrey. Don't take it more than two days in a row, and you'll need another two days in between doses. Sorry, it's the best I could do," she smiled apologetically as she handed over the bottle.  
  
"No, this is great! Thank you," Harry replied, wide-eyed and grateful for her thoughtfulness and subtlety. It would be wonderful to escape the nightmares, even if only for a few days a week. The summer was beginning to look a little less bleak.  
  
After a brief hug and a wave goodbye, Tonks began the long walk back to the edge of the wards surrounding Number 4 Privet Drive. 


	3. Bring the Night On

Disclaimer: Obviously, I didn't write the Harry Potter series. J.K. Rowling is responsible for those masterpieces, and I will always worship her for it. Please don't sue me. I'm already poor and my mom would yell at me.  
  
Author's Notes:  
  
Thank you to the reviewers, without whom I would probably revert back to simply reading others' fanfics. Now, for a few questions: 1. How the heck do I get italics to show up when I upload my story? 2. Would you rather have longer chapters with more time between updates or shorter chapters with less time between updates? 3. Is this story boring and taking to long to get to the point?  
  
Please let me know what you think; I promise not to get offended and I really want to improve. Also, let me know if I make any mistakes (typos, non-compliance with the real HP books, etc...). Once again, thanks for reading! Reviews make my day! Siriusly—oops, I mean seriously! I check for reviews hourly! (Well, maybe not that often, but I am pretty obsessive about them.) And don't forget; if you recognize the song that is the chapter title, let me know in a review!  
  
Chapter 3: Bring the Night On  
  
Harry sat cross-legged on the smallest bed in the smallest bedroom of Number Four Privet Drive. His brow was furrowed in concentration as he tried to think of the best way to begin letters of apology to his two best friends. With a grunt of frustration, he realized he wasn't getting anywhere just staring at his quill and parchment. Resignedly picking up the quill, he decided it would accomplish more to just have a go at it.  
  
Dear Ron,  
  
How are you doing, mate? I'm alright; the Dursleys are leaving me alone for the most part. Whenever they start to act like prats, all I have to do is mention Mad-Eye Moody and they go quieter than Hermione with a good book.  
  
Have you been getting a lot of Quidditch practice in? You'd better, because the team will need you next year. As far as I know, my lifetime ban is still in effect. As a matter of fact, you should make sure Ginny practices as seeker this summer as well as chaser.  
  
Are your arms healed completely yet? I'm really sorry about making you come to the Ministry with me. I should've tried harder at Occlumency, or not dragged you and Hermione with me, not to mention Ginny, Luna and Neville. You guys should get hazard pay for being my friends.  
  
Tell your family I said hi. Let me know if you hear anything about Voldemort.  
  
Your friend,  
  
Harry  
  
It was pathetic, but the best Harry could do at the moment. Besides, Ron was not one to overanalyze anything. Hermione, on the other hand, always read between the lines. Harry knew he'd have to be more careful writing her letter. She'd be on the lookout for even the most subtle clues as to his current state of mind, and the last thing Harry wanted was for her to pity him or think him weak.  
  
Dear Hermione,  
  
I hope your summer is off to a good start. Have you gotten your O.W.L. results back yet? Mine haven't come, but I'm not sure I want to see them anyway. Are you ever going to tell Ron and me what career you chose? I'll probably have to pick a new one anyway, because there's no chance in—well, let's just say I doubt my Potions O.W.L. will be sufficient to get me into Snape's N.E.W.T. class.  
  
Have you heard anything in the news about Voldemort lately? It seems strange that he wouldn't have made some sort of move by now since Fudge is finally acknowledging his return. I hope the Ministry is doing something to protect the muggleborn students.  
  
I wanted to thank you for coming with me to the Ministry of Magic, especially against your better judgment. In retrospect, I can't believe I was so stupid. I should have listened to you from the beginning; you always have been the wits of our trio. I'm sorry you were hurt. I don't know what I would've done if you had—if it had been worse. Your parents must hate me.  
  
On a somewhat lighter note, you'll be pleased to know that I plan on making the most of my summer by doing a lot of studying. I figure that with the news of Voldemort going public, we may have quite a few more members to add to the D.A. and it would be a good idea to have some new tricks to show them. However, I may need your help if it wouldn't be too much trouble. I would be very grateful if you could recommend some good defense and curse/countercurse books. Also, do you know if there are any books on Occlumency out there? If possible, I'd like to get them by Owl Order as I am currently under orders not to leave the neighborhood.  
  
I hope you are well and enjoying your summer. I can't wait to hear from you.  
  
Your Friend,  
  
Harry  
  
Overall, Harry didn't think it was a bad letter. He had been careful to leave out topics that were too disappointing or upsetting, like his lifetime quidditch ban, the Dursleys, Sirius... At the same time, he threw in comments about the upcoming school year and the D.A. to make it seem as if he was looking forward to the future.  
  
If he was to be honest, his letters would have read more along the lines of:  
  
Dear Ron and Hermione,  
  
I hate the Dursleys. I hate Privet Drive. I hate Dolores Umbridge, Cornelius Fudge, Bellatrix LeStrange, Lucius Malfoy, Snape, Kreacher, Death Eaters in general, and that great ugly bugger Voldemort. I'm not too fond of Dumbledore at the moment, either.  
  
I really miss Sirius, even though I don't know if he ever truly realized that I was Harry, not James Potter. Either way, it doesn't change the fact that he's gone. I can't even feel sorry for myself about losing my last chance for a family and a home, because I was the one who destroyed it.  
  
I think I'm becoming an insomniac; I can't seem to sleep more than two straight hours before the nightmares come. Sometimes I get so lost in them I fear that maybe they aren't nightmares after all, although I don't think I could stand it if they were the reality. Of course it's not like real life is such a vast improvement.  
  
To top it all off, I'm supposed to save the whole world. Right. Me. The scrawny kid with the glasses and the scar. I'm prophesized to be the only one with the power to take out the Dark Lord, never mind the fact that I can't even keep the bastard out of my own head.  
  
Well, cheerio, it was nice chatting with you. Try to avoid being tortured and murdered by evil madmen for the crime of being my friends. Hope to see you again soon if we're all still alive and mobile.  
  
Unfortunately for you, Your Friend,  
  
Harry  
  
No, that wouldn't do at all. The entire Weasley family (minus Percy) and Hermione would be pouring through the Dursley's newly rebuilt fireplace seconds after reading that letter.  
  
Harry eventually wanted to write to Ginny, Luna, and Neville but decided that would have to be left for another day. Trying to sound like his normal, relatively untroubled self was too exhausting an act to keep up with any longer. Instead, he sealed up his letters to Ron and Hermione and sent Hedwig with an owl treat to deliver them.  
  
"BOY! Get your lazy arse down here and set the table for dinner!" intruded his uncle's bellowing voice.  
  
Harry trudged down the stairs at a leisurely pace, noting on the way down Uncle Vernon laying like a slug in front of the telly in the living room. And I'm the lazy one, Harry thought incredulously. He continued on to the kitchen where Aunt Petunia was removing a steaming casserole from the oven.  
  
"There you are; it's about time. Set the table for two. Dudley won't be home for dinner tonight and you can fix yourself leftovers after Vernon and I finish," she ordered snootily.  
  
"And who is 'Dudders' terrorizing tonight?" asked Harry, feeling brashly rebellious.  
  
Harry felt something akin to satisfaction when Petunia rounded on him, red- faced and shaking with anger. "Dudley is out enjoying a healthy social life as boys his age should! I wouldn't expect an abnormal, ungrateful orphan like you to understand that!"  
  
Harry knew at that point the smartest option would be to simply set the table and leave, but nearly fifteen years of the Dursleys had brought him to the end of his rope. He had long ago given up on ever being accepted or appreciated by them, but some hurt, vengeful part of his personality felt it necessary to shatter his aunt's skewed vision of her son.  
  
"Yes, well it's just unfortunate that Dudley's 'healthy social life' as you put it has such an unhealthy affect on others. I doubt that Mark Evans down the road would count Dudley's behavior as normal; of course, he'd probably be too afraid for his safety to say something against him in the first place. And it certainly can't be too healthy for Uncle Vernon's wallet, either, with him 'borrowing' pounds for ciggies when he thinks no one will notice..."  
  
Harry was cut off from further speech when his aunt backhanded him across the face hard enough to make him stumble backwards and collide with the refrigerator. He was stunned momentarily and gaped at his aunt in shock, hand cradling his cheek. When he drew the hand back, he was appalled to see it covered in bright red blood. Must've been her wedding ring, Harry thought vaguely.  
  
"HOW DARE YOU ACCUSE DUDLEY OF ANYTHING YOU LITTLE INGRATE!"  
  
"What has the boy done now, Petunia?" growled Uncle Vernon, stomping down the hallway to join the activity in the kitchen.  
  
Even as Petunia answered him, she continued glaring daggers at her nephew. "He was accusing our Dudley of being a bully and a thief! You know Vernon, it was probably this horrid brat who was taking that money from your wallet all last summer, trying to frame the poor boy!" cried his enraged aunt.  
  
At this, Harry was indignant enough to break free from his shocked silence. "What possible use would I have for your money? It's not as if I ever even get the chance to escape from this hellhole in the summer, and when I do finally leave I go straight to the wizarding world!" Apparently this was the wrong thing to say, as Uncle Vernon was now advancing on him with a furious glint in his eyes.  
  
"BOY! You know better than to speak of your abnormality in this house, and I will not tolerate a freak like you badmouthing my son. He is a respectable young man, and you should consider yourself lucky to have grown up in the same household as him!"  
  
This was the last straw for Harry. He hadn't felt this furious with his 'family' since the summer before third year when he blew up Aunt Marge. If he didn't get out soon, he was almost certain he would once again lose control and react magically. Wards and protection be damned; Dumbledore wasn't the one who had to put up with a family that couldn't stand the sight of him.  
  
"The day I feel grateful for the way you have raised me is the day Dudley gets a job based on intelligence and good looks," Harry spat, before turning and leaping up the stairs to his room.  
  
He could hear his aunt's shouts and his uncle's heavy footsteps pounding up the stairs after him, but he couldn't be bothered to care. Once inside his room, he dropped onto his stomach and pulled his wand and cloak out from their hiding spot beneath the loose floorboard under the bed. As Uncle Vernon barged into the room, Harry's only retreat was through the small window. He wrenched it open and dangled by his hands before dropping nearly fifteen feet to the ground. To lessen the impact, he made sure to tuck and roll as he hit the soft dirt and flowers below. If he had looked back before throwing the invisibility cloak on and limping away, he would have seen a livid Vernon Dursley half hanging out the window, cursing the day Harry was abandoned on his doorstep. 


	4. In The Shadows

Disclaimer:  Obviously, I didn't write the Harry Potter series.  J.K. Rowling is responsible for those masterpieces, and I will always worship her for it.  Please don't sue me.  I'm already poor and my mom would yell at me.

Author's Note:  

Thank you, all you wonderful reviewers!  I really can't describe how much it means to me that you are reading and enjoying my story!  Well, maybe I can…I look forward to reviews so much that I check for them about every ten minutes that I am in my dorm room.  Crazy?  Maybe a little…

Anyway, my thanks go out to Mooncinder (sorry, I'm really trying to get the plot going!), Sarily (probably won't be an earth-shattering fic, as it's my first, but I will do my best), Gwendolyn P. Malfoy (glad you like it!), Wiccan PussyKat (thanks for the lengthy review, they're my favorites!  Fifteen feet is rather far, yes, but he was desperate…you'll see this chapter whether Harry really runs away or not.  I'm really trying to keep everybody in character, but I'm having a hard time writing it all in Harry's P.O.V., I hope I'm doing alright.  I'm glad you like the humor; I like to inject a little here and there as I find it tends to lighten up the storyline a little.  Sometimes I think without sarcasm Harry's life would just be too depressing to stand!), PinkPantherLady (I'm getting to the plot; this chapter should reveal a little, I think), HermioneGreen, yellowpages, tansy1354 (I'm glad you liked the letters, I was afraid they were too cheesy; although some abuse fics are done well-check out Celebony's Recnac Transfaerso), I don't believe the Dursleys did more than smack Harry around and neglect him—which is enough!), dweem-angel, and angel74 (thank you so much for the formatting info!  I was getting fed up with my italics not showing up—that really bugs me!)

Chapter 4:  In the Shadows

As Harry limped down the sidewalk, he understood why dropping out of second story windows wasn't a commonly used route to exit a building.  The good news was that he was pretty sure that his swollen left ankle was only sprained, not fractured.  Harry wondered if the slight bounce he had thought he felt when he had hit the ground could have been his accidental magic kicking in.  He had to have imagined it, though, as the Ministry would surely have been all over any chance to discipline him.

Harry gritted his teeth through the pain and forced his feet forward.  Surprisingly, he did not feel panicked about his current situation.  Sure, he had no place to go and Dumbledore and the rest of the Order would be _furious_ with him, but at least he was away from the Dursleys.  Unlike his escapade the summer of his thirteenth birthday, Harry didn't care what Dumbledore would think or what the Ministry of Magic would do.  It wasn't like the wizarding world could afford to discard him since the prophecy had declared him their weapon against Voldemort.  Dumbledore would see to it that he was trained and primed for war regardless of any charges the Ministry brought against him for running away or defending himself against Death Eaters, as he would probably have to do at some point.  

Harry was jolted from his reverie by the sound of wood cracking and muffled cursing.  He had his wand drawn under his cloak and was looking around in alarm when he saw where the sounds had come from.  A teenage muggle girl was hanging by her hands from the lattice and ivy decorating Number 14, sneakered feet struggling to gain purchase on the thin wood.  Harry almost went over to help her before he remembered it would be more than a little strange for him to appear from out of nowhere and try to help the girl break into a house.  She didn't appear to be up high enough to injure herself, anyway.  Luckily, the girl quickly found her footing again and scaled the rest of the latticework without a problem.  As she disappeared into an open window, Harry decided she was probably just trying to sneak back in without her parents noticing._  Privet Drive isn't as normal as Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon think._

Harry shrugged off the odd scene and continued his slow journey out of the neighborhood.  He began to plot out what his next move should be.  First of all, he needed money, so he would have to get to London somehow.  But how?  Harry dismissed the question for now.  Once he got to Gringotts, he would have to change a lot of galleons over to muggle money.  There was no way he'd get away with staying at the Leaky Cauldron this year; before long, he'd have the Order, the Ministry, the media and a crowd of Death Eaters pounding down his door.  No, he would have to check in to a muggle hotel somewhere…

A chill washed over Harry and he paused in his walking.  His first thought was Dementors, but he looked around and noticed all the streetlights were still functioning properly.  He also noticed that he was now standing at a crossroads exactly three blocks from his—the Dursleys'—house.  This was it; this was where the wards, his protection, ended.  

Suddenly, Harry wasn't so sure that he was making the right decision.  He could hear Hermione in his head, chiding him for his foolishness.  He had only his wand and cloak with him, no transportation, and had left his trunk, Gringotts key and personal belongings at the Dursleys'.  However, Harry knew those things weren't what was really holding him back.

Did he honestly think that leaving the Dursleys would bring him freedom?  Perhaps he would be escaping their hate and scorn, but it would be leaving relative safety for the tumult and danger of life on the run.  At best, he would be tracked down and dragged back by Dumbledore.  At worst, he would be kidnapped by Death Eaters to be taken to Voldemort and tortured until every last shred of information and dignity he possessed had been torn away from him.  Not only would he not defeat the monster that had destroyed his life and the lives of countless others, but he would also let down his friends and all the people depending on him once again.

The disappointment and unfairness of it all left Harry feeling drained and weary in mind and body.  It didn't matter if he could physically escape or not; until Voldemort was eradicated and his lackeys brought to justice, Harry would always be a prisoner of the prophecy.  What it all came down to was that Harry Potter was stuck between a rock and a hard place.  If he stayed at Privet Drive, he would continue to be used by the muggles as a slave, and later on, by Dumbledore as a weapon.  If he left, he would be a toy for Death Eaters and the Dark Lord until they grew bored with him.

The only things Harry had going for him at the moment were his friends, and if he left, he wouldn't even have that.  Behind his closed eyes, he could see Hermione rushing in to hug him after a summer of loneliness and confusion.  He remembered Ron in second year, blindly following him through the Forbidden Forest, even though it meant confronting his worst fear.  A vision of himself, Ron, Hermione, Ginny, Neville, and Luna surrounded by Death Eaters was the last to come up.  Harry remembered the fear and intensity of that night in the Department of Mysteries, but beneath the fear was a feeling of empowerment.  As scared as they all were, they had stood together in the face of danger and possible death.  Harry realized then that perhaps he wasn't as alone as he had thought.

Even knowing it put them in danger just to be acquainted to him, Harry knew his friends deserved better than to find out by owl that he had taken off and disappeared into the night.  They had gone above and beyond the call of duty by defending him when it had seemed like the whole world was against him; now it was he, Harry being put to the test.  Although Harry wished nothing more than to be free of the Dursleys and Dumbledore's dubious protection, it was now his duty to grin and bear it.  Like it or not, they were all in this fight together.    

Mind made up, Harry looked back once more across the invisible borderline that he would not be crossing.  Someday, when Voldemort was a thing of the past and the hopes of the wizarding world were no longer pinned on him, Harry would experience the joy of crossing that barrier unburdened.  Just not tonight.

As he was turning to go, Harry saw a flash out of the corner of his eye.  When he focused in the direction it had come from, it was dark once again.  Still suspicious, Harry stood stock-still and waited a little longer.  There!  He saw it again; an unnatural (at least in the muggle world) blue glow by the corner of a house across the street.  Safe under the cover of his invisibility cloak, Harry crept as close to the road and supposed limits of the wards as he dared.  Now only twenty or so feet away, he could make out the dark outline of a person.  Harry squinted in an attempt to make out more of the figure, whose back was to him at the moment.  There was another soft blue glow, and then the person turned around.

Harry froze in shock.  Despite his bad vision, despite the darkness, he recognized that face without a doubt.  Oblivious to his presence, the cloaked person walked a few feet further and raised a wand.  With a whispered incantation, the wand glowed blue before slowly changing to a dull, throbbing red.  Getting over the shock, Harry's fight-or-flight reflex began to kick in.  Before he could react, however, the dark figure grinned at the wand's reaction and reached a hand under the sleeve of the cloak.  A moment later, Harry heard the familiar 'pop' of disapparation.

Without another thought, Harry turned and ran full speed back to his aunt and uncle's house.  

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A multitude of thoughts ran through Harry's mind as he raced back down Privet Drive.  If the Death Eaters knew where he lived, had they now found a way past the wards as well?  Despite the mutual hatred and disgust between Harry and his relatives, he did not want them dead.  If he was supposedly so well hidden from Voldemort yet he had still been found, what about Ron and Hermione?  As far as Harry knew, they weren't nearly as well protected, and if Voldemort couldn't get to Harry, the Slytherin would happily go after his friends.  _Hell, he'd go after them even if it served no other purpose than bringing more misery to my sorry existence._

Panting as quietly as he could manage, Harry slowed as he reached Number Four.  He stood on the doorstep and listened intently for footsteps, a creak of the floorboards, screams of pain, anything.  Everything sounded alright; the Dursleys were probably fast asleep and dreaming happy dreams of a Harry-less existence.  As soon as he was sure no one was watching, he reached out and grabbed the doorknob.  Locked.  Harry mentally cursed and ran around to try the backdoor, which he found was also locked.  On the way back to the front, he noticed that every window was closed and locked as well, even though it was a hot and humid night.  As a last resort, Harry peeled up the "Welcome" mat on the porch and checked for the spare key.  All he could see was an outline in the dirt where the key had been not long before.  

"Stupid, thick prats…" Harry mumbled, throwing the mat back down with a 'SLAP'.  

"POTTER!"

Harry whipped around at the sound of the panicked shout and came face to face with Mundungus Fletcher, although the man's gaze was directed more to the left of where Harry was actually standing.  Seeing no one else around, Harry yanked off the cloak and revealed himself.

"Oh thank Merlin!  Where in hell's name have you been, boy!?  What did you think you were doing, running off under that cloak of yours?  Dumbledore would've had my hide if anything had happened to you!" yelled the flushed Order member.

"There's no time to argue about it; I just saw Bellatrix Lestrange!  I need to speak to Dumbledore!" said Harry frantically.

"Lestrange?  She got through the wards?" asked Fletcher, drawing his wand and glancing around nervously.

"No, she didn't get through, but she was right at the edge—inspecting them or something," Harry replied.

Fletcher let out a sigh of relief and rested the back of his hand on his wrinkled forehead.  "Holy skrewt, Potter, you had me going there for a second.  I thought you meant one of 'em had actually got through!"

"WHAT?  What do you mean, 'actually got through'?  How long have the Death Eaters known where I am, and why didn't anyone tell _me_?" Harry shouted angrily.

Fletcher began to look nervous again.  "Well, I figured Dumbledore would'a told you about it…ya see, Lupin warned Dumbledore before you came back that Pettigrew more'n likely revealed your location to You-Know-Who by now.  After all, the rat had been sleepin' in the same room as you for three years before his return."

The gruff little man must have mistaken the fury on Harry's face for fear as he prattled on, "But don't let that worry you kid; Dumbledore reckons even if they know where ya are, the wards'll keep 'em away just fine."

Harry glared at the man, nonplussed.  "I want to speak with Dumbledore," he growled.

Fletcher gulped.  "A'right…shall we pay a visit to Bella, then?"

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Sorry for the sort-of cliffie.  I have about four papers and a creative project due next Friday that I've barely started, but I wanted to get something posted before I locked myself in my room and resigned myself to working on nothing but schoolwork…then after that, I have finals to look forward to!  Yay!  Yeah, right…


	5. Tell Me What to Say

**Disclaimer**:  Obviously, I didn't write the Harry Potter series.  J.K. Rowling is responsible for those masterpieces, and I will always worship her for it.  Please don't sue me.  I'm already poor and my mom would yell at me.

**Author's Note**:  Thank you reviewers!  Sorry about the confusion at the end of the last chapter; you will soon find out what "Bella" I was referring too.  Sorry the update took so long; I'm working on a paper for my anthropology class and two other papers for classical mythology all at the same time.  Please keep reviewing, or I'll lose motivation!  Thanks especially go out to **tansy1354**, **Wiccan**** PussyKat** (sorry about saying 'sidewalk' instead of 'pavement'.  I swear I didn't know, but I'll remember that from now on!), **dweem****-angel** (thanks for wishing me luck on finals, I'll need it!) and **Miss Laine**.

**Chapter 5:  Tell Me What to Say**

Harry trudged sullenly after Mundungus Fletcher trying to mentally prepare what he would say to Dumbledore.  He didn't want to go into a rant like he had _that_ night after 

'The incident', but he wanted to make sure the headmaster understood his frustration.  After their mutual confessions and catharsis after the Ministry battle, Harry had thought there would be a more open line of communication between himself and the headmaster.  

So far, though, Harry didn't see much change taking place.  He was still stuck with his rotten relatives with no idea what was going on in the war, Dumbledore was back to leaving only vague secondhand instructions for him to follow, and now Death Eaters were prowling around the wards like vultures.  For a moment, a feeling of suffocation took hold of him as Harry was reminded of how helpless and vulnerable he had felt the previous summer.

Soon they arrived at Arabella Figg's door and Harry felt his anger resurfacing along with a tinge of anxiety.  As Fletcher knocked timidly, Harry toyed with the idea that maybe Dumbledore purposely limited the amount and lengths of the conversations they shared in order to intimidate him into being more easily controlled.  Most likely that was only the devil on Harry's shoulder slipping in his word, but nevertheless, the thought still lingered in the back of his mind.  Just in case, Harry swore to himself silently that he wouldn't let his awe of the legend stop him from pushing to get the answers he needed.

The door opened with a creak and Harry's old babysitter came into view.  He caught a whiff of stale, cabbage-smelling air as it escaped the house.  

"Mundungus Fletcher, what have you done now?" she snarled.  

"Erm…nice to see you too, 'Bella,"

"Don't you call me 'Bella', or 'Figgy', or anything of the sort, you hideous excuse for a guard.  Just tell me what it is that you want," demanded Mrs. Figg, stamping her foot impatiently.  She obviously hadn't forgiven the man for abandoning Harry to fend off dementors alone the year before.

Fletcher began to stutter, making it clear to Harry that it was time to step in.

"Everything's fine, Mrs. Figg.  He just brought me here because I need to speak to Professor Dumbledore," said Harry, stepping out from behind a relieved Mundungus.

"Oh, Harry dear, I'm sorry, I didn't see you there.  Are you feeling alright?  You look a bit peaky.  I've been meaning to tell you how sorry I am about your godfather…"

Harry thought he detected a hint of pity in her eyes and was suddenly angry again.  The last thing he needed was another Mrs. Weasley mothering him and referring to him as 'the poor dear'.

"Yes, well, thank you I guess.  Not to be rude, but I really do need to speak with the headmaster," Harry cut in irritably, not in the mood for sympathy or small talk.

"Right," she replied, straightening up and looking much more like the craggy old lady Harry remembered from his childhood.  "Well, I'm sorry, but as I am sure you can understand, the headmaster is a very busy man.  Unless it is of drastic importance, I would suggest you send him an owl."

Harry could almost understand how Remus must feel at full moons as he became aware of the little hairs on the back of his neck and arms standing up and his fingers arc and strain as if about to sprout claws.  "Fine then.  Do you think you could just fire-call him for me later and pass on the message that Harry Potter would like to schedule a tea time to discuss why Bellatrix Lestrange is wandering around Surrey looking quite pleased with herself?"  With that, Harry turned and began walking calmly back down the pavement.

"POTTER!  Get back here this instant!" she hissed.  As soon as he was back within range, Mrs. Figg wrapped gnarled fingers around his right bicep and practically dragged him inside.  Fletcher only just slipped in behind him before the angry squib slammed the door shut.

"What is the meaning of this?  Where have you even been in the few days you've been home that you saw that wretched piece of Death Eater filth?" 

Harry took a calming breath before folding his arms and stoically answering.

"First of all, this place is not my 'home'," Harry growled. "Secondly, while I may have _very seriously _thought about running off, I didn't go further than three blocks from the Dursleys'.  In answer to your question, I saw Lestrange disapparate at the very edge of the wards.  Now, either I talk to Dumbledore, or I go back to the Dursleys and practice underage wizardry until I get his or the Ministry's attention, whichever comes first.  Your call."

Looking fit to explode, Mrs. Figg gaped angrily at him before turning on her heel and heading into the living room.  Harry remained watching from the hall as she tossed a handful of powder into the fireplace and stuck her head in to make the call.  A minute later, she reemerged and stormed back to where he was waiting.  

"Well, go ahead boy," she snapped.  "I'd remind you to be respectful to your elders, but I doubt it would be any use."  Without staying to see the conversation through, she hobbled off stiffly in the direction of the kitchen.  Harry took a breath and walked over to the fireplace.  What he found there surprised him.

The head of a very tired, worn looking Albus Dumbledore floated eerily in the flames.  For an instant, Harry forgot his anger and hoped that he hadn't woken the man up; he looked as if he could use every moment of rest that came his way.  Dumbledore's barely twinkling, sad eyes blinked at him and Harry shook himself out of his stupor.

"I believe you requested to see me, Harry?" initiated the headmaster.

Harry cleared his throat, trying to find his voice and nerve again.  "Erm, yes sir.  Well, to begin with, I had a bit of an argument with the Dursleys earlier and had to leave in a hurry,"

Dumbledore's eyes narrowed at this and Harry began to feel as if he were under a muggle microscope.  "Yes, Harry, I can see that," said the headmaster coldly.  

Harry suddenly became aware again of the long scratch on his cheek left by his aunt's wedding ring when she had backhanded him.  His hand rose instinctively to feel it, but halfway through the motion Harry caught himself and slapped his arms back to his sides.  For extra measure, Harry straightened up his posture, holding back a flinch when pain flared in his injured ankle.

"The point is that as I was walking through the neighborhood, I came across Bellatrix Lestrange."  Before Dumbledore could begin the inevitable interrogation, Harry added, "I was wearing my invisibility cloak, so she didn't see me.  I had my wand with me as well."

Dumbledore sighed wearily, whether in relief or defeat Harry wasn't sure.  "Where exactly did you see her, Harry?"

Harry tried to brush away the feeling of guilt the question stirred up.  "Exactly three streets down from Number Four," he admitted.  Dumbledore inclined his head in acknowledgement but said nothing.

The guilt rose up again, but Harry refused to let it take hold of him.  Remembering the matter at hand, he took advantage of the headmaster's silence and began his own interrogation.  "Sir, just how long has Voldemort known where I live?"

This time when Dumbledore met his eyes, it looked like it took a lot of effort.  "We cannot be entirely sure of that, Harry.  Peter Pettigrew has known the location of the Dursley household ever since you first gave Ronald Weasley your address for correspondence.  When exactly he passed that information onto his master, we do not know." 

"Let me rephrase that," Harry bristled, "How is it that the Death Eaters were able to discover precisely where the wards end?"

"That is a question which requires a much longer explanation."

"All the more time for the Dursleys to calm down before my return, I suppose," Harry responded cheekily.

Dumbledore simply nodded obligingly and continued.  "Harry, first of all you must understand that many different spells have been placed over this neighborhood.  Your mother's sacrifice and your relatives' blood are by far the strongest protection you have, but there are many others in effect as well.  For example, one prevents the use of portkeys, another misleads unapproved owls and animagi, and there is an anti-apparition ward in place as well.  Those are only a few of the spells over Privet Drive.  Now, the catch is that the only way to maintain all of these precautions at the necessary strength and coverage area is to tie them to one powerful magic source: the bond between yourself and your relatives."  

At this point, Dumbledore locked eyes with Harry as if to make sure he was still paying attention.  Harry gave a slight nod to indicate he wished him to continue.

"The only way to break this bond would be for Petunia Dursley to personally remove you not only from her household, but from the protection of the wards themselves.  Unfortunately, the distances the wards cover depend upon the strength of the blood bond, or your relationship with your aunt and even to a small extent, your cousin."  Harry groaned and was about to speak when Dumbledore raised a frail, wrinkled hand to stop him.  "I am not quite finished yet, please."

"The first day that the Dursleys took you in, the wards covered approximately a five mile radius.  However, they diminished slowly and gradually over the next ten years, and since your enrollment at Hogwarts they have suffered a drastic decrease in area," Dumbledore looked quite sad and apologetic explaining the effect of the Dursleys' ever-increasing dislike of Harry.  "Finally, when the dementors attacked you and your cousin last summer and your aunt and uncle nearly forced you to leave the house, the wards' protection fell to an all time low.  As you have witnessed, the furthest you can wander safely now is about three blocks from home."

"This is supposed to make me feel safe?  And how does this explain how the Death Eaters know just how close they can come to the wards?" Harry pressed.

"Please try to understand, Harry, that the Dursleys' hatred of everything magical is no more my fault than it is yours.  I wish I could do more to keep you safe, but alas, your relatives are the only ones with that power.

"As for the Death Eaters; that is a problem that neither I nor the Order have been able to solve quite yet.  No one meaning harm to you or your family should be able to even detect the wards.  The only possibility I have been able to come up with is that somehow, Voldemort found a way to link a harmless spell of his own to the protection spells over Privet Drive to serve as a marker.  The problem is neither he nor one of his servants would have been able to activate it.  The only people who are capable of introducing a new spell into the network that has not been approved by myself are those under its protection."

Harry contemplated this.  "I certainly haven't cast any spells like that, and Petunia and Dudley couldn't have.  They don't have the slightest bit of magical talent!"

"Ah, but I did not say they had to cast it.  They would simply have to _introduce _it.  For example, if Voldemort were to cast the marker spell along with a magical bonding spell on a simple object, your aunt or cousin need only bring that object willingly into the area of the wards for it to naturally merge with the protections already in place.  Neither spell the object carried is in itself harmful, so they would not be deactivated.  After that, the Death Eaters need only apparate a long distance from your address and carefully work forward until they detect the marker spell..."

Harry gave a derisive snort and finished, "…which Bellatrix Lestrange has already done."

Silence settled over the room once more, and Harry could practically feel the tension rising.  

For the first time in the whole conversation, Dumbledore looked away.  If it was possible, the fatigue was now even more evident on the man's aged face.  

"I had hoped it would take much longer for them to pinpoint the exact location.  However, leaving you in the care of the Dursleys as an infant, I never imagined that…" the headmaster's words trailed off as he stared sadly at the bloody scratch marring Harry's cheek.

This only served to further inflate Harry's anger, however.  "That what, Professor?  That they'd hate me?  That they'd loathe me enough to make me sleep in a closet when they had three decent-sized bedrooms?  Or maybe that they'd think me so worthless the only purpose I could possibly serve on this planet was to slave away for them like a house elf?  Or wait, perhaps you meant you never imagined that they would despise me enough to lock me in a room, bar the windows, and starve me like some criminal!" Harry finished, shouting.

For the first time Harry could remember seeing, Dumbledore appeared shocked and speechless.  Harry didn't feel the slightest bit of sympathy for him.  After all, the man had seen to it personally that he was left at the mercy of the Dursleys with no one to check up on him.  Just thinking about the man he had once looked upon with wonder and admiration actually being the person who abandoned him to endure a miserable, unloved childhood made Harry's throat constrict painfully.

"Well sir, I hope it's all been worth it to you.  I suppose it must be.  I'm still alive, so I can still serve my purpose according to the prophecy.  'Neither can live while the other survives' and all that, right?" Harry mumbled, feeling more drained by the second.  "I do know exactly what it means, though.  I don't suppose constantly watching your back for murderers, traitors, and dark lords constitutes 'living'.  Worrying which of your friends will be the next victim after you've run out of family members isn't much of a life either, I guess."

"That is enough, Harry." Dumbledore stated solemnly.  "I am sorry you feel this way.  I assure you that if there was a way I could take your place or relieve you of the burden of the prophecy I would.  Alas, it is impossible.  The most I can do is offer you the best safety I am capable of creating."

"And if it isn't enough, what am I left with?" Harry asked rhetorically.  "I'm left with fifteen years of hate, misery and insults.  Oh yes, and safety, how could I forget.  Did you know that if I could, I'd trade all fifteen of these years for one week of life as Ron…just to see what it feels like, you know?  To belong in a family?  To have people worry over my grades, my health—to have someone to be proud of me whether I won or lost at quidditch.  But I'll never have that; it wouldn't have been safe, and Merlin forbid the Boy-Who-Lived be spoiled by his family like any other child out there."

By this time, Dumbledore looked very hurt and deeply saddened.  Harry was sure that his own expression probably mirrored the headmaster's.  "Harry, I believe we both have much to think about.  If I am not mistaken, neither of us can be of anymore aid to each other at the moment.  However, please believe me when I say that I never intended to do you any harm; it is the last thing I would ever want.  Unless you have anything more that you need to know tonight, I bid you farewell."

Harry, too tired for words, shook his head in answer.  

"If you will please come back next Friday then, Harry, perhaps we can attempt to sort through some of our troubles.  Now, I will be sending Fawkes over momentarily with a message for your aunt and uncle.  I believe it should suffice to keep them in line until then."

Harry did not answer.  Dumbledore nodded sadly one last time.  

"Good night then, dear boy," he said before his head faded from the flames.


	6. The Taste of Ink

**Disclaimer:**  Obviously, I didn't write the Harry Potter series.  J.K. Rowling is responsible for those masterpieces, and I will always worship her for it.  Please don't sue me.  I'm already poor and my mom would yell at me.

**Author's Notes**:  Thanks to all the wonderful reviewers, without whom I would wallow in self-pity and never post another chapter on FF.net.  To **WiccanPussyKat**: sorry I couldn't fulfill your wishes, but I did try extra, extra hard just for you!  I hope you like this chapter!  As to your predictions, I don't want to spoil the story for you.  I will tell you however, that I do have very good plan of how I will end this fic.  I'd write an even longer response to your wonderful review, because there's a lot I'd like to say, but I'm afraid the FF.net gods will smite me.  To **angel75, tansy1354, AP MOM, Mooncinder, Kjkit, Omagic, jeff, sarily, dweem-angel, **and** Alexis-Lee**:  While I enjoy writing this fic simply to exercise my creativity, knowing that you are reading it makes it a spectacular experience. 

By the way, if you are wondering, the chapter names sound strange and don't seem to directly address what goes on in the story for two reasons.  First, the chapter titles are actually titles of songs I like and find intriguing.  Second, I don't like giving away exactly what the chapter's focus is.  Let me know in a review if you know what artist does the song!

**Chapter 6:  The Taste of Ink**

The days following his blowout with the headmaster passed much more smoothly than Harry expected them to.  Harry couldn't for the life of him think of anything that would convince the Dursleys to take him back in after their argument.  He had been sure that if the Order's threats hadn't been enough to keep them civil, nothing would.  However, something in the letter Dumbledore had Fawkes deliver persuaded them not only to leave Harry alone, but also to feed him at regular intervals and lighten his workload.  

Oh, Harry could still tell they despised him.  In fact, when Mundungus Fletcher had walked him back from Mrs. Figg's, his uncle had been so furious to see him back at Number Four that the Order member was almost forced to use magic against him.  Luckily, Petunia had noticed a nosy neighbor who had woken up to the yelling peeking out the window to watch the commotion and ushered them inside before Vernon could do anything rash.  After that, Fletcher had handed over a small bottle of healing potion Dumbledore had given Fawkes to deliver along with the letter, and asked Harry to go to his room.

Harry, having always been intensely curious by nature and not one to appreciate being forced out of conversations concerning him, left the bedroom door open a crack to spy on them.

"What is this?  If this is another threat from that loony old crackpot trying to tell me how to run _my _household, I'll tell you now I won't have any of it.  Besides, Petunia and I have decided that we tried our best to raise that insufferable brat to be a normal, decent young man, but he is obviously beyond help.  You fr—people should be grateful we took the little bastard in to begin with."

"Dursley, just shut your mouth an' read that letter before ya force me to do somethin' that would land us both in a world'a trouble," Fletcher barked, for the first time that night sounding as if he belonged in the Order of the Phoenix.

For the next few minutes, all Harry could make out was the rustling of papers.  Then, Uncle Vernon gave a light gasp, and Harry could hear him muttering softly to Petunia.  When he finished, Aunt Petunia drew in a sharp breath and asked Fletcher something that sounded like, "This isn't some kind of trick, is it?"

"I dunno what that letter says, but I can tell ya now that Dumbledore doesn' say things he doesn' mean," responded the man gruffly.  "Now I need to get goin'.  We'll be watchin' ya extra close from now on, so ya better let the boy alone.  We have ways of keepin' an eye on the place so that ya won' even know we're here.  An' believe me when I say, there's _always_ goin' to be someone here."

The conversation had ended there.  Fletcher left, and his aunt and uncle retired to the kitchen to talk.  Harry was too tired to sneak around gathering anymore information, and decided it would be smarter to lie low for awhile and stay away from his relatives.  Now that he had decided to stay, he may as well do his part to make the living conditions tolerable.

Since then, several days had passed.  In that time, Harry had been allowed to sleep in as late as he wanted, had been given only a reasonable amount of chores, and had received permission to eat whatever he liked, provided he made it himself.  He still avoided his aunt and uncle, as whenever he was near them he could see in his aunt's taut face and his uncle's rigid posture a barely concealed hatred.  Although he was long-since used to their disgust and hate, somehow it still hurt that those were the only emotions his last remaining family could spare for him.

Harry had taken to spending his free time on these comparatively peaceful days walking around the neighborhood.  Sometimes Tonks or Fletcher would sidle up to his side and chat with him quietly when none of the neighbors were around.  Mad-Eye Moody, however, was either too paranoid or too professional to make his presence known even to Harry when he was on guard duty.

It was now Tuesday, and Harry had only three more days until he had to see Dumbledore again.  He was currently lying listlessly on his small bed, tired of prowling the confines of Privet Drive like a tiger in a too-small zoo exhibit.  There was nothing for him to do; his daily chores had already been completed, all his summer homework except for Potions had been done, and he had sent Hedwig off the previous morning to deliver letters to Luna, Ginny, and Neville.

Harry was saved from anymore time spent wallowing in boredom when a tiny owl flew through the window like a miniature missile.  A letter nearly the owl's own size and weight hung haphazardly from its tiny leg.

"Hullo, Pig," Harry mumbled, snatching the bird from the air and setting it at the foot of his bed.  As he was untying the letter, a larger, dark brown and stately-looking owl landed on the window frame.  It surveyed the room haughtily before its large, amber eyes settled on Harry, clearly waiting for him to relieve it of its message.  _Has to be from the Ministry,_ Harry thought.  After he carefully removed the rolled up, official-looking parchment from the owl, the bird took off and headed back to where it came from without a second glance.  

Before he could get back to Ron's letter, Hedwig floated gracefully into the room, already back from delivering her messages.  She apparently had at least one reply already, too.  Harry raised his eyebrows incredulously.  _What timing…Not one letter the entire first week of summer and now three owls in one day!_  He must have spoken too soon, though, as one last owl appeared and settled on the windowsill.

This owl was a deep charcoal gray with black speckles and wingtips.  It had a fierce and intelligent look to it, and its eyes were a piercing gold.  Harry didn't know why, but the bird gave him a bad feeling; he was fairly sure that he wouldn't like whatever information it had for him.  The owl's beady eyes and head followed his movements as he made his way over to collect its letter.  Harry gently untied a thick roll of parchment from its leg, and the imposing bird left just as quietly as it had come.

After being besieged by so many owls at once, Harry didn't know which letter to begin with.  Pig was hopping excitedly up and down on the mattress looking quite like he needed some attention, so Harry started with Ron's letter.

_Hey Mate,_

_It was good to hear from you.  It would have been a lot better if you didn't act like a guilty prat, apologizing and all that.  Get it through your thick head, mate—WE CHOSE TO GO WITH YOU.  If I'd have asked you to come with me to save my family from Voldemort, you would've come without a second thought.  Friends stick together, no matter what happens in the end.  _

_Enough of the gushy-friendship stuff, then, and on to the most important matter: Quidditch.  If they don't take away your ban, they're crazy.  Just in case, I've got Ginny practicing as Seeker like you said.  Still mate, she's rubbish compared to you, anyone would be.  She does make a pretty decent chaser, though.  Don't let it worry you, if they don't lift the ban we'll just have to start a quidditch club in addition to the D.A.  Honestly, they ought to have given you another award for Special Services to the School for punching out Draco Malfoy.  Probably would have, too, if that hag Umbridge hadn't been there.  The ban is probably why McGonagall's taking so long to name you quidditch captain for next year—she probably has to wait until it's lifted._

Harry pondered that comment for a moment.  He hadn't really thought about quidditch for awhile; the lifetime ban had made it just another painful memory to add to his collection.  Even though he definitely wanted to be back on the team next year if he could, it seemed so insignificant now.  Harry wondered if any aspect of his schooling and life at Hogwarts would ever again be as meaningful as it once was in light of the prophecy.

_Anyway, Mum and Dad and Ginny and the twins say hi, and Mum also wants to know if your relatives are feeding you enough.  Sorry, but she's making me ask.  Ginny says you'd better be sending her a letter soon, too, and the twins want to invite you to their shop if Dumbledore ever lets you leave those git relatives of yours.  Take care, mate, we're all looking forward to seeing you whenever it's safe for you to leave.  _

_Ron_

_P.S.—Don't wait up for a letter from Hermione, her parents are taking her to __China__ for a few weeks.  Can't for the life of me think of why they'd want to go there; probably ran out of books she hasn't read in __Europe__.  Oh, Ginny just got her letter from Hedwig, so you don't have to worry about her going spare on you.  You might have to put up with getting long, girly letters from her now, though._

Harry smiled.  Right now he didn't mind how long or girly any letters sent to him were; he was going out of his mind with boredom.  He was surprised to hear that Hermione's parents were taking her somewhere so far from home over summer holidays, but he was sure Hermione was thrilled.  Secretly, he was glad to hear that she was away from home.  As long as they were using muggle transportation, they were probably safer from Death Eaters.

Harry looked through the rest of the parchments he had gotten.  Hedwig had brought back messages from Luna and Neville, and he decided to read those next.  They were both somewhat short; Neville's simply stating that Harry had no reason to apologize, and that his grandmother had actually been proud of him for standing up for himself and his friends against Death Eaters.  Luna's ignored his apology altogether, instead choosing to describe her first week of searching for the elusive Crumple-Horned Snorkack with her father.  It read like a documentary written by a Quibbler reporter on some strong psychoactive substances.  Harry enjoyed it nevertheless.

Next, Harry opened the letter from the Ministry.

_Dear Mr. Potter,_

_This letter contains the results of your Ordinary Wizarding Levels. Attached is your N.E.W.T. class registration parchment, which must be completed and sent to __Hogwarts__School__ of Witchcraft and Wizardry by the fourth of August.  Please keep in mind that the only N.E.W.T. level classes you may enroll in are those in which you received an O.W.L. score of at least Acceptable, although professors reserve the right to demand higher for certain classes._

_Due to some discrepancies during certain exams last term, please pay particular attention to the additional notes at the bottom of this parchment._

_Congratulations on the completion of your O.W.L.s.  We look forward to seeing your progress at N.E.W.T.s._

_Sincerely,_

_Astoria__ Procris_

_Educational Committee Representative_

_Ministry of Magic_

Harry took a deep breath.  He wasn't sure he wanted to see this yet…until he remembered how unimportant O.W.L.s were in the scheme of things.  What did it matter if he didn't do well enough to be an Auror?  He'd probably have to be trained better than an Auror anyway, if he was to defeat Voldemort.  Besides, if he did survive the war, would he want to continue living the way he was now?  Harry resumed reading his results.

_- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -  _

_*Ordinary Wizarding Level Results*_

_Student: Harry James Potter_

_Astronomy: Acceptable (please see additional notes below)_

_Care of Magical Creatures: Outstanding_

_Charms: Exceeds Expectations_

_Defense Against the Dark Arts: Outstanding*_

_Divination: Poor_

_Herbology__: Exceeds Expectations_

_History of Magic: Troll_

_Potions: Acceptable: Exceeds Expectations_

_Transfiguration: Exceeds Expectations_

_Total O.W.L.s Passed: 7_

_- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -_

_Additional Notes:_

_Concerning your Astronomy Exam:  Due to the interruption during this exam, you have the option to request a retest.__  If you are satisfied with your results, this is not necessary._

_Concerning your Defense Against the Dark Arts Exam:  You received the top score of all students in your school who tested in this subject.  You may be eligible for an apprenticeship or independent study; contact Headmaster Albus Dumbledore for details._

Overall, Harry was very pleased with his results.  It disappointed him that he didn't make the grades to be an Auror even though he was no longer sure he really wanted that anyway, but he still figured Exceeds Expectations was good enough to throw in Snape's face.  While he had expected an Outstanding in Defense Against the Dark Arts, he hadn't really thought that he'd top the entire fifth year class.  He didn't know what the note about an apprenticeship or independent study was about, but he was pleased that he'd have something to talk to Professor Dumbledore about on Friday that wouldn't leave either of them feeling ashamed or uncomfortable.

The result that surprised him the most was the "Troll" he received in History of Magic.  Not that he'd expected to do well in the subject, but he had that "T" standing for "Troll" had just been a joke.  He couldn't wait to tell Ron that it was real, although Ron might already have discovered that based on how poorly his Divination exam had gone.  Best just to tell Hermione that he had received a "Poor" whenever he saw her…

Harry shoved the results into his desk drawer with a sheaf of old letters and Ministry notices.  Onto the last letter…Harry hefted the thick scroll in his hands, noting that it was almost the same deep-gray as the owl that had delivered it.  He wondered if he should go ahead and open, or show it to whoever was on guard duty first.  For all he knew, it could be from a Death Eater.  Then he remembered what Dumbledore had said about the protections on Privet Drive, and was pretty sure he remembered the headmaster mentioning something about one that misdirected unauthorized owls.

In the end, curiosity got the better of him and he unrolled the scroll.

*_Last Will and Testament of Sirius Black*_

Without reading any further, Harry rolled the scroll back up, sealed it, and promptly shoved it under his secret floorboard.  He stood up and began pacing around the small room, hands pressed on the back of his neck as he tried to sort out what that letter meant.

Why was he so shocked?  He knew Sirius was dead; for Merlin's sake, he'd watched him die…_No, that's not true, I saw him fall through a _bloody _veil_…It wasn't surprising that Sirius would have a will, certainly every member of the Order of the Phoenix  had made one.  It also wasn't surprising that Harry would be in the will…_if you completely left out the fact that I'm the reason his will is here in the first place.  I'm sure he wouldn't have put me in the will if he knew I'd be the one to send him away in the end_...

It was all too much to take in at the moment.  Harry felt suffocated in the small room.  As was second nature now, he shoved his wand into the back pocket of his pants and pulled his baggy T-shirt over to cover it before yanking the door open and striding downstairs.  He wrenched the front door open at the same time his uncle was turning the knob to come in after returning from work.

Harry must not have known his own strength; Uncle Vernon practically fell into the house, dropping his briefcase and stumbling into the hallway.  By the time the elder Dursley realized what had happened, Harry was already beyond hearing range.

_- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -_

**A/N:** Sorry for ending it there; I was supposed to be working on my Classical Mythology paper the whole time I was writing this, and I really have to go back to it now.  I'll have more soon, I promise!  I know this hasn't been the most action-packed chapter.  I'll make up for it in chapter 7—I have to, because 7 is my lucky number!  And so you don't think I'm being repetitive, Harry is NOT trying to run away again.  He's simply getting some air.


	7. I've Seen Better Days

**Disclaimer:**  Obviously, I didn't write the Harry Potter series.  J.K. Rowling is responsible for those masterpieces, and I will always worship her for it.  Please don't sue me.  I'm already poor and my mom would yell at me.****

**Author's Note:**  Hey everybody.  I just got really frustrated with schoolwork, so I decided to do what I do best: procrastinate.  Who say's its such a bad thing?  If it weren't for procrastination, this chapter wouldn't have been out so soon.  I hope you like; it's a bit longer than the rest.  Thanks to the reviewers of the last chapter.  **Mooncinder**: one of your questions is answered in this chapter, the other will be addressed later on.  **Jeff**: Offhand, I'd say no to Potions.  I don't see it as vital training for combat (which Harry's focus will be), but let me know if you disagree.  **Sarily**:  I for one don't believe Harry has ever thought very hard about his future.  I think being an Auror was just one of those things Harry thought sounded cool at the time, and it was the first thing that came to mind.  IMHO, I think Harry would want to be free from the Ministry and fighting dark wizards if he lives to see the prophecy through.  What we are good at and what we enjoy doing are sometimes very separate things.  I could picture Harry as a professional Quidditch player much more easily than as an Auror.  Also, thanks **csferosha** and **tansy1354** for your nice reviews.

**Chapter 7:  I've Seen Better Days**

Until the will arrived, Harry had been doing a stellar job of pretending Sirius Black had never died—well, consciously, at least.  Most of the time he tried to wipe his godfather out of his mind completely, and if anybody mentioned him he could pretend that Sirius was just M.I.A. or on vacation.  The will was an unwanted reality check.  It brought a flurry of memories and thoughts through Harry's mind that he had been trying to repress ever since the end of the school year.  The images and sounds bombarded his senses so furiously that he sat down on the edge of the pavement and cradled his head in his arms, waiting for them to pass.

_Sirius falling Bellatrix you have to mean it crucio your fault you loved him_

Behind closed eyes, the mysterious veil flapped soundlessly.

_seventh__ month dies marked equal not your father power he knows not_

The archway was closer now, curtains fluttering serenely.

_curse__ Hermione hurt did you love him did you did he love_

It was so close now, he could almost touch it.  Just a little closer, maybe he could hear the whispers again…

_kill__ the spare avada darkness please alone not Harry end kedavra_

"Harry!"

So close, maybe he could hear Sirius…

"Harry!  What's wrong?!"

_shaking__ stop it let go_

"HARRY! Snap out of it!"

If he could hear Sirius there was still hope…

"Harry, please look at me…"

_know__ that voice holding back dead he's dead _

_blink_

"R-Remus?"

Remus Lupin was staring urgently into Harry's eyes, looking fit to have a nervous breakdown.  

"Oh thank Merlin!  God, Harry, what happened?"

"What?  Nothing…he's dead, I got a will…" Harry shook his head.  He felt incoherent and muddled.  _What _did_ happen?_

In one giant rush of noise, the eerie silence of the Department of Mysteries was drowned in the sound of birds chirping, leaves rustling, and people talking off in the distance.  Suddenly Harry became aware of a surprisingly strong hand gripping his shoulder, and another grasping his forearm.  He was looking directly into the light brown and worried eyes of Remus Lupin.  The man looked even shabbier and more exhausted than Harry could ever remember, and that was saying something.

"Harry, you just scared me out of my wits.  Where were you just now?  Was it Voldemort?"

Harry tried to concentrate.  "I…I don't think so…my scar doesn't hurt.  I just, well—Sirius' will came in my owl post today, and I just…" 

He couldn't think of anything to say.  Trying to explain it now, he felt very foolish.  After all, Remus had just lost the last of his old friends, and Harry didn't see him cracking up.  Maybe it would be better just to blame it on Voldemort…the connection might actually do him a favor this once.

Remus was still scrutinizing him when he met his eyes again.  He looked very sad and worried.

"I'm sorry, Harry.  I should have come to see you sooner—I meant to, but I've been away on a sort of business that no one else in the Order could take care of," Remus explained.

Harry was surprised his former professor had felt so obligated to visit him in the first place.  "It's alright, Pro—Remus, you shouldn't feel like you have to come visit me.  Actually, I'm surprised you came at all, considering..." Harry's mind helpfully supplied another replay of Sirius falling into the fluttering arms of the veil.  "Anyway, the Order's been keeping an eye out for me, and the Dursleys—well, for the most part they're ignoring me, which is the best I can hope for from them…"

Remus' eyes darkened, and his expression turned grim.  The Dursleys were lucky Dumbledore had sent the healing potion with Fawkes, because Remus may just have come after them if he had seen the scratch Petunia's ring had left on his face.  "I wish you wouldn't act like nothing is wrong.  You lost Sirius just as much as I did.  And contrary to what you've experienced, it is not acceptable guardian behavior to ignore one's charge.  Besides, from what Mundungus Fletcher tells me, they did a bit more than ignore you up until several days ago," he growled.

Harry just shrugged and stared at an ant crawling by on the pavement.

"Harry, there is something in particular I came here to speak with you about today, but after what I just saw, I'm not sure now is the right time…" Remus said cautiously.  "You see, it directly involves Sirius' will."

Normally, Harry would have argued himself blue in the face to get answers out of Remus.  However, he was still only barely coming to terms with Sirius'…passing.  

Remus looked crestfallen when Harry didn't immediately pipe up and demand to know what he was talking about.  "Well, I suppose it can wait," he said, unsuccessfully trying to hide his disappointment.  

_What are you waiting for, are you a Gryffindor or not?  Sirius is dead, partially because of you.  You have to accept that; Remus has.  You practically killed his best friend, the least you can do is hear him out._

"Harry?  You're getting that look in your eyes again, are you sure you're alright?"  Remus asked.

"Yes, I'm fine.  And you don't have to wait; please tell me what the will said," Harry replied, although he would have rather gone on pretending there was no will and that he'd see Sirius later at Grimmauld Place.

"Alright, if you're sure," Remus said tentatively.  

Harry nodded, not willing to vocalize the lie.

"Well, copies of Sirius' will went out to everyone who was named in it.  However, they are charmed so that the only part the recipient can read is that which concerns them.  For the most part, it deals with divvying up the Black family inheritance, which includes properties, money, and certain effects.  You won't know what you've inherited until you read the will," Remus cast a furtive glance Harry's way before continuing, "but most likely it will include a large sum of money and a property or two, like mine."

Aside from the fact that he didn't want any of those things, especially not when they should belong to a living, free Sirius, Harry didn't find that very strange.  After all, the Black family was very old, and "_toujours__ pur", _so it was practically a given that they would be very rich as well.  Harry would have found that out by reading his own copy of the will; it hardly warranted Remus' house call.  

"Okay, not too surprising," Harry said, trying to prod Remus into getting to the point.

"Yes, well, the next part is.  Harry, galleons and properties aren't all I inherited from Sirius, and they certainly aren't the most important…to put it bluntly, Harry, I inherited you."

Harry stared at Remus for a long moment.  He hadn't really thought about his guardianship and who would take it over in Sirius' absence, but then again, he hadn't really acknowledged before that Sirius was never coming back.  Still, Remus?  Harry was very fond of the man, and he did appear to be kindest and most gentle-mannered of the Marauders from his peak into Snape's Pensieve, but he really didn't know Remus too well.  Besides, who said the man even wanted to have custody of him?

"Do you have anything to say, Harry?  I'd like to hear your thoughts before I tell you what I have in mind," Lupin asked apprehensively.

 "Er, well, do you even want to be my guardian?  Because I'm sure you don't _really _have to, you could just name someone else…"

"Of course I want to, Harry!  That's not even a question; I would have taken you in all those years ago, had Dumbledore not insisted you go to the Dursleys." An almost imperceptible flash of anger passed over the man's eyes.  "Of course, the Ministry never would have allowed it, either."

"Do you think they would now?" Harry asked, before realizing how it sounded.  "No offense; I mean, what's changed since then?"

"Harry, because Sirius had legal guardianship over you, he has—he _had_—the legal right to give custody to _whoever_ he wanted in his place.  The Ministry cannot interfere.  It couldn't be more solid unless it was written in stone."

"Okay…well, how does this change things?  I'm assuming I'd still be living with the Dursleys most of the summer; I can't imagine Professor Dumbledore willingly letting me leave—"

"This is not Dumbledore's choice, Harry.  It's yours.  That's another thing we have to talk about.  How safe do you feel on Privet Drive now that Voldemort knows you're here?" Remus inquired.

"Well, I figure if a Death Eater knocked on the door and demanded Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon hand me over for a ritual sacrifice, they'd do it, and throw in a nice pudding as well," Harry joked darkly.  "Seriously though, they haven't been that bad the past few days.  Dumbledore gave them a letter, and ever since they read it they've been shockingly civilized."

"The reason I ask, Harry, is because I don't feel it's safe for you to be here any longer.  I believe that all it would take is one more incident like the one between you and your relatives a few days ago for the wards to become weak enough for Voldemort to penetrate."

Privately, Harry agreed.  It didn't seem like the simple fact that Petunia took him into her house when he was one was sufficient anymore.  Dumbledore had admitted that the wards were now weaker than ever before, and by now the Death Eaters were probably checking for weakness all around the perimeter.  Staying at Number Four any longer was beginning to look downright nutters.

Still, a few things bothered Harry about leaving, too.  If Privet Drive and blood magic couldn't guarantee his safety, who or what could?  And although he couldn't stand his relatives, Harry couldn't very well abandon them by taking away what little defense they had due to the blood magic.

"I didn't tell you before, but the 'business' I've been taking care of since you left school is preparing one of the properties I inherited for you and I to live at.  It's very well warded, like Grimmauld Place, right down to the Fidelius to keep it hidden.  If you want to, we can even leave tonight," Remus asked hopefully.  

Harry suddenly felt very uncomfortable.  He knew what he had to say.  It went against everything he had always wanted growing up, and everything he wanted now, but he had to keep in mind that his happiness and safety weren't all that was at stake.  

Harry slumped and put his head in his hands.  "Remus, I can't.  Not yet, at least.  If I leave now, the Dursleys will be completely defenseless and Voldemort won't hesitate to send his cronies in to kill them.  I have to stay until the protection is renewed."

Remus looked dejected.  "I understand your reasoning, Harry.  What I'm afraid of is that they'll lose their tempers again and bring the wards down all on their own.  I swear, Harry, if those muggles do something stupid and let Voldemort get to you, I'll rip them apart before the Death Eaters get the chance."

Harry was touched to see how much Remus cared, and wanted to put the man at ease.  "It's really going to be fine, Remus.  Just a few more weeks and I should be able to leave.  The Dursleys really have been a lot…different since they read Dumbledore's letter."

The expression on Remus' face spoke volumes about his feelings for the headmaster at the moment.  Harry sympathized; he couldn't say that Dumbledore's decisions concerning his life had brought him a lot of happiness, either.  _He did the best he could given the situation, though,_ interrupted the voice in the back of his mind.

"If you are sure, Harry, then I'll plan on moving you in early August.  In the meantime, you can expect to see me around here a lot."

"Oh, you're going to take shifts with the rest of the Order now?" Harry asked, pleased that he would be able to speak with Remus more often now.

"No.  I'll be here in addition to the guard.  I'm not leaving you here surrounded by Death Eaters no matter how safe Dumbledore says it is.  I plan on keeping an eye out at the edge of the wards to make sure they don't even get the opportunity to discover exactly what protections there are."

Harry wasn't sure he wanted Remus wandering around in close proximity to Death Eaters on his behalf.  He knew that nothing he said would change the man's mind, however, so he just nodded absently.  Then he remembered something he had wanted to ask Remus…

"Have there been any attacks yet?"

Remus was caught off guard by the change of subject, and Harry could tell from the expression he let slip that the answer wasn't good.  Instead of trying to deny it, however, Remus looked Harry straight in the eye.

"Yes.  There have been several attacks on muggles recently, but not enough yet to raise suspicion.  However, I'm sure it won't be long before the situation escalates.  He will probably take more lives, both muggle and wizard, the more followers he gains," Remus stated solemnly.

"But he doesn't have that many followers, yet, does he?  He'll probably have trouble getting more," Harry pleaded desperately.

Remus shook his head sadly.  "You underestimate the power of fear, Harry.  In the first war, who do you think half of Voldemort's followers were?  They were people who were so petrified their own families would be next that they were willing to follow a murderer.  Perhaps they were weak and the decision they made was wrong, but the point is they still joined Voldemort."

The war was becoming more and more real right before Harry's eyes.  Last year, Harry had been so overwhelmed with actually warning people of the coming war that he never really got the chance to prepare himself for it.  Sure, he had been in battles before, but then he had always known who his enemies were.  In battle, the end was never far off, whether that end looked to be in Harry's favor or not.  War was uncertain; it could last for weeks, months, years…Harry had a sense of foreboding that this war would not be over quickly.

"Harry, the world is going to be facing some very hard times in the coming months.  You have already been through a lot in your life, but war is going to be different.  You are going to have to accept that people will die, probably even many people you know.  Also, I know your propensity for taking the blame, Harry, and I'll tell you now you have to learn to get past that.  If you place guilt on yourself for every casualty, you'll do Voldemort's job for him," Remus warned.

Harry nodded, but knew he'd have to take some time to think about it in private to get what Remus just said to sink in.

"I'm sorry for sounding so tragic, Harry, but I think you're old enough to be spoken to truthfully concerning this.  In fact, I think it's absolutely necessary that you are prepared for the war as best you can be," he added.

"Please don't ever apologize for being honest, Remus.  I wish people had been more honest with me in the past…Anyway, I agree.  I'd rather plan for the worst and have a chance to prepare for it rather than be fed the sugar-coated version and be completely out of my league when the time comes to fight," Harry stated, more sure of his words now than he had been of anything else he had said to Remus that day.

Harry was surprised when Remus smiled broadly, taking years off his aged-looking face.  "Harry, no matter what anybody tells you, you are not your father.  You are definitely your own man."

Harry smiled back, just as brightly.  Little did Remus know the effect that comment had on Harry.  It was just what he wanted—no, _needed_—to hear.  Harry had never truly gotten over seeing his father in the role of tormentor that day in Snape's Pensieve.  Although he had accepted the fact that people changed, and James Potter was one of them, he had also acknowledged that he and his father were definitely quite different.  However, when Sirius had pointed that out, it had been with a hint of disappointment in his voice.

_"You're not as much like your father as I thought."_

Coming from Remus, it was neither a compliment nor an insult.  It was simply an acknowledgement; one that Harry had been waiting for someone else to make.

"Alright, Harry, I must be off soon.  I have a few more things to finish up with at the house before I get ready to stake out Privet Drive.  Before I go though, I have something for you.  You actually have your friend Hermione to thank for it…Ah, here it is."  Remus pressed a soft, lumpy object into Harry's hand.

Harry rolled it around on his palm.  It looked like a miniature backpack.

"Best set it down for a moment, that's it,"  Remus glanced around to make sure no muggles were looking their way.  Then, he stealthily drew his wand and aimed it at the tiny pouch.  "_Engorgio__._"

Harry marveled at the now nearly bursting backpack.  Predictably, it was jam-packed with books.  As Harry scanned the titles, he noted that there were several on defense, a few he couldn't identify at a glance, and, just as he had asked, one on Occlumency.  Hermione was as dependable as always, even while in…China?

"If these are from Hermione, how did you get them?" Harry asked, baffled.

"I paid a visit to her and her parents the day summer break began.  She was worried that with Voldemort back, her parents would not want her coming back to Hogwarts next year, so she requested my assistance in persuading them.  Before you ask, she will be returning for sixth year, but if you want anymore information on the subject you'll need to speak to her about it.  Anyway, Hermione had already gathered up the books she already owned for me to bring to you, and had compiled a list of the others she thought would be helpful.  Your friends care a great deal for you, Harry."

"I know," Harry replied affectionately, "it goes both ways."

"Of course," Remus was smiling nostalgically, probably remembering his days as a Marauder.  "Well, I'll be off then.  Get started on those books, especially the Occlumency.  Learning from a book should be easy after dealing with Sniv—I mean, Professor Snape," Remus grinned.

Harry wrinkled his nose.  "Yeah, a breeze, I'm sure.  Goodbye, Remus!"

-------------------------------------------------------------------------

It was nearly sunset when Harry picked up the heavy bag of books and began to walk back to Number Four.  The backpack weighed so much that Harry had to stop several times to catch his breath, and he wondered why Remus hadn't had the good sense to cast a lightening charm on it.  He was nearly to the yard when something very large knocked into him from behind.

"Billeeee…why'd you go so soon?" slurred an unfamiliar female voice.  Harry dropped the bag and spun around…only to feel a cold hand wrap around the back of his neck, pulling him close.

The hand belonged to a girl a little older than Harry, and one who was quite pissed, at that.  She was wearing jeans and a skimpy tank top, and for some reason looked very familiar.  Harry gently removed her hand from his neck and took a step back.

That was it, she was the girl he had seen climbing into that house the night he almost ran away!  Unfortunately, the revelation didn't help him much with the situation at hand.  What did one normally do with a drunk girl found wandering the streets in the evening?  Aunt Petunia wouldn't let him bring her inside, and he couldn't just leave her stumbling around helplessly in the dark.  

Harry sighed and decided he'd just have to drop his books off and walk the girl home; that was assuming the house she had climbed into a week ago was, in fact, her home.  Keeping an eye on the girl (who, at the moment, was examining her fingernails with a goofy grin on her face), Harry left his bag in the Dursleys' front hall then jogged back.

"Right then, my name's Harry, and I'm going to walk you home now, okay?" he said, as patiently as he could.

The girl just looked confused, cloudy blue eyes regarding him droopily.  "'Kay," she answered, but before Harry could grab her hand and lead her down the pavement, she collapsed.  He rolled his eyes and bent down to pick her up, but jumped back when she began to retch right in the Dursley's manicured front lawn.  

Harry just stood by in shock until the girl finished.  She must have been through this before, because even in her state, she remembered to hold her long, light brown hair out of the way.  As soon as the disgusting choking sounds ceased, a soft sob filled the quiet night air in its stead.  If Harry had been stumped as to what to do with a wandering pissed girl, he was even more at a loss when it came to pissed, crying girls.  He settled on kneeling in the clean grass by her side and awkwardly patting her shoulder.

"Er, ready to go home now?" he asked.

The girl turned red, teary eyes to him and nodded pathetically.  Harry helped her up, and she settled her arm around his shoulders as if it was the most natural thing in the world.  She didn't notice the perplexed look he gave her, as she was too busy sniffing noisily and trying to determine where she was.

Luckily for Harry, the walk over to her house went smoothly and quietly.  It wasn't until they reached the doorstep that the girl spoke again.  

"Thank you," she muttered softly, her head hanging in embarrassment.  "'M sorry, I didn't catch your name…"

Harry almost reminded her that he had given it earlier, but remembered her condition and simply answered, "It's Harry.  Harry Potter."

"You're a good guy, Harry," she sniffled, before opening the door without knocking and stumbling inside.  The last thing Harry saw before turning to leave was a frightened and angry looking woman charging across the room to receive her.  As he walked back to the Dursleys', Harry pretended that his parents were there, worried and waiting for _him_ to return.


	8. Definitely Maybe

**Disclaimer:**  Obviously, I didn't write the Harry Potter series.  J.K. Rowling is responsible for those masterpieces, and I will always worship her for it.  Please don't sue me.  I'm already poor and my mom would yell at me.****

**A/N:  **Thanks to all my reviewers.  Sorry, but I'm not going to list anyone this time as its two a.m. and I have a psychology final at eight a.m.  I will answer one question however:  Fear not, there will be no romance between Harry and "Weird Girl", as one reviewer put it.  Also, I warn you that this is not a very long chapter.  I also may not be able to update for several days either, courtesy of the new Fox special "When Finals Attack!"

**Chapter 8:  Definitely Maybe**

_The air was burning and bright with flickering light.  A familiar pain coursed through his skull.  He was alone again, always alone in the end._

_The scent of fresh grass tainted with the stench of smoke and death filled his nostrils.  His limbs shook uncontrollably; he couldn't remember why.  Vaguely, he noticed the reassuring warmth of his wand resting loosely in his right palm._

_"Harry, Harry, Harry," a wicked voice chided from above and behind him.  "Always the Gryffindor.  Why do you still fight when there is nothing to gain?"_

_Harry groaned and rolled onto his back.  Bleary eyes regarded the menacing figure of Voldemort sneering down at him.  In the background, tall flames and thick smoke rose from a row of houses and bodies littered the front yards.  Instinct told him to lift his wand, to curse the murderer standing before him, but his body would not respond to any of his mind's requests.  _How did he get here?  What had happened?

_"Before I end your pitiful life, Potter, tell me.  Whatever made you think that _you _could do anything to stop _me_?"_

The prophecy,_ Harry's mind supplied helpfully.__  As if he had spoken the words aloud, Voldemort's gleaming red eyes widened with interest.  Suddenly Harry found unbidden memories flashing before him.  _No, he can't know…got to stop him…

_"Nooo," he moaned weakly.  Voldemort ignored him completely, busy sifting through Harry's thoughts.  _Dumbledore speaking to him as a first year in the hospital wing…Dumbledore reassuring him that despite their similar pasts and talents, Harry was very different from Tom Riddle…Trelawney's eerie prophecy in his third year…_Stop him, stop him, stop him…_Dumbledore questioning him after the disastrous Third Task…_Too close, make it stop, block him…_Waiting in Dumbledore's office after the battle in the Ministry of Magic…_French toast, think French toast..._  "The one with the power to vanquish the dark lord approaches,"…_sizzling, golden, cinnamon…_  "Born to those who have thrice defied him,"…_Concentrate harder Potter; smell it, almost done, got to take it off the heat before it burns…  _"Born as th—sev—onth—d-d-i-e-es,"…_Mmm__, smells good…_

Harry jolted awake and sat up in bed.  A cold sweat had soaked through his pajamas and his arms and legs were still shaking.  It took him a minute or two of contemplating the ache he felt in his chest before he realized he had stopped breathing and his lungs were starved for oxygen.  In between drawing huge, gasping breaths of air, Harry tried to figure out what had just happened.

Why had he had a nightmare?  He had taken a dose of Dreamless Sleep potion that night; why hadn't it worked?  Harry rubbed his forehead distractedly as he thought back to the dream…_Wait, my scar was burning!_  Not a dream at all, then?  Voldemort had entered his mind again.  _And I stopped him, I stopped him with…French toast?  I have to tell Dumbledore.  Might be a bit embarrassing…_Harry glanced at the old alarm clock on his night stand.  It was 4:45 a.m. on Friday morning; Dumbledore would arrive sometime in the afternoon for their talk.

Deciding he didn't want to go back to sleep and risk a repeat of Mind Wars with Voldemort, Harry turned on the small lamp beside his dilapidated bed and picked up the Occlumency for Dummies book Hermione had sent.  Although impressed his focusing technique had worked in the dream, he didn't want to grow dependent on visions of breakfast foods as his only tool for blocking the world's most evil wizard from his secret thoughts.  When he flipped open the cover of the book, he was surprised to come across a short note from Hermione.

_Dear Harry,_

_If you've found this note, you must be intending (or at least attempting) to learn Occlumency.  Let me just say that I am very proud of you, and I know you can do it!  _

_Now, unfortunately I had only read halfway through the book before my parents told me we would be traveling to __China__ this summer (how exciting!  I can't wait to see what the libraries there are like.  Can you imagine?  Their culture is thousands of years old!).  Anyway, my hope was that I could help you learn it if I practiced with you, but by the time I get back you should be much further ahead of me._

Harry snorted at this; sometimes Hermione placed far too much faith in him.  He'd just have to try his best to live up to her expectations.

_It wouldn't hurt for Ron to try as well; do you think he would?  Who knows when we may come to need a skill like that!  Perhaps we could even teach it to the D.A. someday!_

_Now, I really must get back to packing.  In case you do not open this book and never find this note (which would greatly upset me), I will be sending you a proper letter through muggle post once my parents and I reach __Shanghai__.  I hope you are having a fun and uneventful summer so far._

_Love,_

_Hermione    _

Glancing from his friend's enthusiastic letter to the Occlumency book and back again, Harry gave a long-suffering sigh and flipped to the first page of the book.  If Hermione was willing to learn such a difficult skill for his sake, the least he could do was try his best to make it easier for her to teach him.  **_Prologue: The Origin and Purposes of Occlumency and Legilimency…_**

****

An hour later, Harry slapped the thick book shut and sauntered over to the window, looking out over a rainy, muggy day.  He had been immensely pleased with the book, which explained Occlumency in terms that made it sound like an ability he was capable of learning.  The first chapter had been a detailed description of the steps the book used to teach Occlumency.  Harry had read through chapter two as well, which taught meditation and breathing exercises as the first step.  It offered such elaborate instructions and helpful hints that he devoted the next few hours to practice.  _Hermione would be proud; anyway, it's not like I have anything better to do._

At eleven a.m., a very relaxed Harry sighed contentedly and stared blankly at the ceiling.  Who knew meditation could be such a great stress reliever?  It felt like waking up from a long, deep, peaceful sleep.  If only he had tried this approach to Occlumency last year…

"POTTER!" screeched a voice so shrill that Harry rolled out of bed and hit the ground with a _thud_.

"Shite," Harry mumbled, jumping to his feet and straightening his clothes.  "WHAT?"

"Get down here!  You have a _visitor_!" yelled Aunt Petunia, sounding none too pleased with the situation.

_It's only __eleven o'clock__!  Dumbledore's not supposed to be here till sometime after __noon__, _Harry thought.  Slipping his wand into the waistband of his baggy shorts as a precaution, Harry left his Dursley-free zone and stomped downstairs.  Strangely, both Petunia and Dudley stood in the doorway, effectively blocking the guest's entrance.

As he approached the door, Petunia turned to him with her usual glare of disgust, but said nothing.  Harry rolled his eyes and turned to face his guest.  As his eyes took in the figure before him, he could see why his aunt had been so inhospitable—and why Dudley was still standing in front of the door, practically drooling.

The strange girl Harry had helped home the other night stood before him in a short pink skirt and low-cut shirt.  The rain had smeared dark circles of mascara under her large brown eyes, but she was still pretty.  She beamed at Harry annoyingly despite being soaked head to toe, and gave a little wave.  Dudley, oblivious to his cousin's presence, waved back.  Harry sent a piercing glare Dudley's way before slamming the door in his face.

"Umm, hello…"

"Hi," she answered back, still smiling.  "Nice family you have, there."

Harry shook his head in puzzlement.  "Er, I'm sorry, but do you need something?  Because, well-"

Her grin faded.  "Oh, no—_I'm _sorry.  I just wanted to apologize for the other night and thank you for walking me home."

"Oh.  It was no problem, and you're welcome."

She continued to stand there, looking as if she had something more to say but didn't know how to go about it.  An uncomfortable silence settled over them, and Harry felt more than a little stupid for his speechlessness.  He didn't have all that much experience speaking with strangers, especially female muggle strangers.  

"Um, I don't think I caught your name the other night…" Harry tried.

The smile was back.  "Yes, sorry 'bout that.  It's Heather Gaines." She stuck out a slender, manicured hand, which Harry hesitantly accepted and shook.

"Harry Potter."

"Yes, I remember.  You know, I was a little out of it the night we met," Harry nearly snorted at this but was able to disguise it as a cough.  She either didn't notice or didn't call him on it as she continued, "…so it took me a few hours before I could work out why your name seemed so familiar."  

This caught Harry's attention.  Was it possible that this seemingly average muggle teenager, living on the most _normal_ street in Little Whinging, was a witch? 

"You're the one the neighborhood's always gossiping about, the Harry Potter that goes to St. Brutus', right?" Heather asked, regarding him interestedly.

Harry was a little disappointed to find that he was still the only wizard in the neighborhood.  Beyond that, he had to hide that fact and tell the first muggle to show a genuine interest in him that he went to a center for juvenile delinquents.  _Another consequence of being Harry Potter,_ he mused tetchily.

"Yup, that's right.  Good old St. Brutus'," grumbled Harry.

Amazingly, Heather didn't seem at all fazed.  "Wow!  That's great!" she announced, clapping her hands excitedly.

Harry did a double-take.  "What's so great about it?"

"My boyfriend goes there too!  You probably know him!"

_Uh oh.__  Better play along…_ "Billy?" Harry asked, thinking of the name she had mentioned the other night.

She looked nervous for a second and cleared her throat before speaking.  "Er, no, Billy's just a friend.  He doesn't go to St. Brutus', and I'd appreciate it if you didn't mention him if you see Justin…that's my boyfriend, Justin Finch-Fletchley."

Harry gaped.  "I'm sorry, I thought you said Justin Finch-Fletchley," he asked to clarify.

"Oh, so you do know him?"

_Justin?  As in beginning sixth year, Hufflepuff, Justin?  _He gulped.  "Er, yeah.  I've talked to him a few times.  Do you mind if I ask how you met?"

"At a party last summer," Heather answered.  "He only lives about four kilometers from here.  My parents don't like that I'm dating an "Incurably Criminal Boy", so I have to sneak out a lot to see him.  Have you seen his pet owl?  It's really amazing; he's trained it to carry messages!"

At this point, Harry was feeling a bit dazed.  He could hardly believe that all this time he had lived so close to one of his classmates.  It also made him feel very sheltered to hear about said classmate and his exciting social life in the muggle world.  Harry had spent most of his life in Privet Drive and was just now meeting someone his own age that didn't fear or despise him.

"Well, I don't want to bore you talking about Justin and me.  I do need to be on my way now, and I'm sure you have things to do today.  Hey, do you want to come over to my place sometime and hang out?  We could just tell my parents you go to that prissy Smeltings school or something," she offered.

Harry liked the idea of getting away from the Dursleys, and her house was inside the wards.  Plus, learning how Justin spent his summers maximized his desire to act like a normal teenager on break from school.  Maybe he couldn't go to parties or the cinema like other kids his age, but at least he could spend some time with a girl who enjoyed his company and didn't see him as the Boy-Who-Lived.

"Sure, that would be nice," Harry answered.

After exchanging phone numbers, Heather was off and Harry went back inside to find both Petunia and Dudley scowling at him.  

~*~*~*~

**A/N**:  Sorry so short…I actually wasn't planning on posting anything until my final exams are over, but I needed a distraction before all the information building up in my head gave me a brain attack.  Good luck to all the other readers and authors with exams!


	9. Never Let Down

**Disclaimer:** Obviously, I didn't write the Harry Potter series. J.K. Rowling is responsible for those masterpieces, and I will always worship her for it. Please don't sue me. I'm already poor and my mom would yell at me.****

**A/N: **Yay! Finals are finally over and I'm home for the summer! Most likely I'll have more time to write as long as my work schedule stays reasonable. Thanks to everyone who reviewed, and thank you for being so understanding about the late updates. Now, to answer some questions (as well as I can):

**Csferosha**—I really like your grenade idea, and your comment about telling Snape to shove it made me laugh. It would be really cool, but I really don't see Harry as personally caring enough about potions (although that's mostly Snape's fault) to pursue researching it—at least during the summer. Thanks for reading and reviewing!

**Wiccan**** Pussykat**—I love your reviews; you pay such attention to detail! I'll let you know now that there will be some Harry-torture later on in the story, because it sounds like you're one of those sick people that enjoys that sort of thing…for that matter, so am I! You will find out what Dumbledore's letter said and what Sirius' will says in the near future…can't tell you if Remus will die or not, sorry, don't want to ruin the story by giving too much away. As for Justin, who said his parents _make_ him tell people he goes to St. Brutus' (hint hint)? ;p By the way, I was wondering if you could tell me if probation or house arrest is a form of punishment for breaking the law in Britain as it is in America?

**Omagic**—Glad I could make you laugh! Your story is coming along great; I always wait with bated breath for your updates.

**Hunta**—The will is going to come a little later—Harry is trying hard not to think about Sirius' death, and he will have to confront those feelings before he is ready to open the will and accept his loss. Glad to have you reading!

**Mooncinder**—Don't worry about not reviewing the last chapter; it sucks when you are in the middle of a chapter and find out the end didn't load…grrr, what causes that? Anyway, I'm just happy I haven't scared you off yet!

**tansy1354, dweem-angel, psalatino, sarily, LunaLovegood61, and jbfritz**, you guys are great! Thanks for taking the time to review!

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**Chapter 9: Never Let Down**

After already incurring the wrath of Aunt Petunia by having an unannounced visitor, Harry had the great pleasure of informing her that Dumbledore would be dropping by soon as well. This news caused her face to flush almost as badly as Uncle Vernon's often had the tendency to. She looked so much like she had taken a gulp of Pepper-Up potion that Harry half expected steam to pour out her ears. It was to his great disappointment that she managed to calm herself, and her face returned to its normal, bitter frown.

"I certainly appreciate you notifying me of this so soon," she clipped.

Before he could come up with some clever retort, Petunia was stomping up the stairs as loudly as her gaudy high-heels could manage. Harry decided to wait for the headmaster's arrival in his room, and had just reached his door when something soft hit the wooden floor next to his feet. Clothes—and by the looks of it, clothes that _weren't _Dudley's hand-me-downs. He looked up sharply to see Aunt Petunia standing stiff and tall, arms folded and glaring down at him as if daring him to say something ungrateful.

Keeping a suspicious eye on her, Harry slowly leaned down and retrieved a pair of khaki shorts and a navy blue collared shirt off the floor. They both appeared to be accurate fits, but Harry couldn't be sure. He had been living in the Elephant Boy's clothes for nearly fifteen years, after all.

Harry looked back up at his aunt, who was now tapping her foot impatiently. "Uh, thanks?"

_Not good enough._ Petunia huffed, and rolled her buggy, blood-shot eyes. "I can't say I expected any appreciation from you. You'll wear those when that old—when your _headmaster_ comes to speak with you."

"Okay…but why did you—" Harry started, but she was already gone. 

Harry was deeply engrossed in **A Good Offense is Your Best Defense: Battling the Dark Arts** by the time a gentle knock sounded on the front door. Actually, it had been Dudley lumbering up the stairs with an intensity probably scoring eight points on the Richter scale that alerted Harry to Dumbledore's arrival. He bookmarked his spot at "Barely Forgivables and Their Countercurses" and went down to join the headmaster before his relatives had the chance to insult him.

Dumbledore was standing alone in the living room, squinting at one of the many pictures of Dudley as a child. The headmaster noticed his arrival a moment later, and the fleeting sad look in his eyes was swiftly replaced with false cheer. Part of Harry felt sad that his professor now had to fake happiness; he missed the characteristic twinkle, and hated seeing the man he used to idolize looking so haggard. Obviously, guiding the wizarding world through war for the second time in less than two decades was taking its toll.

"Hello, Harry."

"Hello Professor," Harry replied respectfully.

Dumbledore took a seat on the sofa, and Harry settled into a cozy, plush armchair across from him.

"You are looking much more vigorous than at our last meeting," Dumbledore stated.

Not quite sure what to say to that, Harry nodded slowly and toyed with the hem of his new shirt. It felt very strange to be wearing appropriately sized muggle clothes. They weren't exactly snug, but he had gotten so used to baggy t-shirts and pants… 

"I was hoping that we could discuss your future today."

_What future? I thought the prophecy had already decided that for me. Oh well, might as well play along. _"Sure. Anything in particular?" Harry asked dutifully.

"Perhaps we could begin with your future at Hogwarts. Professor McGonagall tells me you would like to be an Auror someday?" 

Harry began fidgeting with his shirt again. "Actually, I think I might have changed my mind on that."

Although he didn't look up to see for sure, he could feel Dumbledore's penetrating gaze on him. A few moments later, the headmaster hesitantly said, "Harry, I hope you have not changed your career path because of…past conflicts with a certain Potions professor. If this is about your O.W.L. score, I assure you I have spoken to Professor Snape—"

"It has nothing to do with Snape, and I'm not about to prove him right by using my fame to get into a class that I'm apparently not qualified for," Harry spat. Dumbledore flinched at his harsh tone, and he immediately felt bad for losing his temper. He silently vowed to stay calm and be more understanding for the rest of the visit. "I'm sorry, Professor. I guess I'm just a little touchy about subjects concerning _Professor _Snape." Sorry for his outburst or not, Harry was not giving the slimy git anymore than the bare minimum of respect his title called for. "Anyway, he isn't the reason I don't want to be an Auror anymore. I think that if I…" _survive to see the prophecy fulfilled… "_Erm, what I mean is, when all this stuff with Voldemort is over, I'd like to see what its like to not constantly have my life at stake. 

Dumbledore let the Snape comment slide and nodded sympathetically. "Well then, have you thought of any alternatives? You should not be lacking in options with the O.W.L. scores you received, especially with the record you set for Defense Against the Dark Arts," he said, with a small smile.

"I set a record?" Harry gaped. 

"Perfect Ordinary Wizarding Level Score with Honors in the Subject of Defense Against the Dark Arts, the first Hogwarts has ever seen," Dumbledore beamed. "I daresay you may want to take your diploma and run once you graduate before I hire you as a professor and lock you into a classroom indefinitely. It would be extremely relieving to have a permanent Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher. I might actually be able to enjoy a summer holiday in Maui if I did not have to spend the time attempting to fill a cursed position."

For the first time that summer, Harry laughed. It felt great to have his name down for something based on merit instead of luck. "Hogwarts Student with Perfect DADA Score" held much more appeal to him than "Boy-Who's-Thick-Head-Vaporized-Voldemort".

Suddenly, Harry remembered the note that had been included with his O.W.L. scores. "Sir, the letter my test results came with said that I could do an apprenticeship or something."

"Ah, yes. That is the standard for students who receive the top O.W.L. score in their year for any subject. Defense Against the Dark Arts is a problematic area for apprenticeships, however, at least at Hogwarts. I am sorry to have to say that I have not been able to find a person both qualified and willing to teach Defense against the Dark Arts for next term, and ministry policy states that the apprenticeship must be under the professor of the subject. However, I had prepared some backup options for you if you would like to hear them."

Harry frowned. How were they even going to have DADA next term if there was no one to teach it? Assuming Dumbledore either didn't know how to answer that question yet or wouldn't tell if he did, Harry only asked what his other choices were.

"Well, you could choose to study independently, as stated in the Ministry letter. That would require you to set your own lesson plan, layout your own goals and select your own books, which will all have to be approved by myself. However, another option you might benefit more from is a mentor-guided independent study. This has all the same requirements of the independent study, except that you would have the aid of another professor or an approved expert in Defense Against the Dark Arts to help you plan and practice."

Harry mentally weighed the pros and cons of each option. Hermione would certainly jump to his aid if he chose the independent study, but he supposed that having an experienced mentor on his side would ultimately teach him more. The question was who would be his mentor?

"If I chose the guided study, who would mentor me?"

The twinkle was back as Dumbledore cheerily answered, "Why, I am glad you asked. One Remus Lupin was quite insistent that he would like to have that role, should you agree to it. I believe he is properly qualified and could most certainly aid in planning your lessons should Miss Granger become too busy with her own schoolwork," he added knowingly.

There really was no question as far as Harry was concerned. He clearly remembered all the classes Remus had taught in his third year, and recalled it as the year he really became interested in DADA. Both his top O.W.L. score and his Patronus he owed to his former professor. He quickly accepted Remus as his mentor for sixth year, and Dumbledore moved onto the next topic.

"Harry, do you and Miss Granger have plans to continue with your Defense Association?"

"Er, I don't know. I guess I haven't really thought about it since term ended. With the independent study, Quidditch, and trying to learn Occlumency, I don't know if I'll have time," he answered warily. By mentioning Quidditch, maybe he could prod Dumbledore into revealing whether his ban had been lifted yet or not.

"Your Defense Against the Dark Arts studies will replace the standard sixth year course, and will take only however much extra time you and Remus plan. As for Quidditch, I am sorry to be the bearer of bad news. Despite my efforts to reverse all of Dolores Umbridge's effects on the school, Minister Fudge has been quite adamant that your ban remain."

Harry's heart sank. Quidditch was the one constant throughout his stressful Hogwarts years that had never failed to take his mind off the wreck that was his life. Until this moment, Harry had held onto a small ray of hope that he would be the Gryffindor seeker again in his sixth year. Harry gritted his teeth to fight the sick feeling in his stomach, and found himself glaring hatefully at the thin scars marring the back of his right hand. Surely wherever Umbridge was now, she was laughing heartily over getting the best of the Boy-Who-Lived. Not only had she left her mark on his body, she had also left her mark on his spirit by taking away one of the few joys left in his life.

He was startled to hear the headmaster speaking again. "Although the Ministry will not revoke the ban on my request, _you_ have the right to file for an appeal on the matter." Harry noticed that Dumbledore, too, was staring at the message carved into his hand. Blushing, Harry shoved his hands into the pockets of his shorts. "It is something you may want to discuss with Miss Granger when you see her. It may be a good idea to mention any hardships and misconduct you endured during the time you spent as her student; Minister Fudge might realize that a mere sport is trivial when compared to the possibility of news of scandal within the Ministry finding its way to the press.," hinted Dumbledore darkly.

Was his headmaster actually suggesting Harry blackmail the Minister of Magic? _Doesn't sound like a bad idea._ Besides, it wasn't as if Fudge didn't have it coming. It was definitely a plan to keep in mind, at any rate…Suddenly Harry couldn't wait for Hermione to get back within reasonable owling distance.

"Now, to discuss the rest of your summer," Dumbledore pressed on. "Remus has informed me that you will be joining him at his newly acquired residence on August second. You should be adequately protected there so long as you abide by the rules Remus sets and you stay within the boundaries of the wards." The headmaster wisely did not attempt to coax Harry into remaining with the Dursleys any longer. "However, for the next few weeks I must insist that you keep all disagreements with your relatives to the bare minimum," he stated, and just as Harry opened his mouth to argue, added, "even though I am sure you rarely start them. The fact is that the wards around Privet Drive are already alarmingly weak, and all it would take is one more argument of last week's caliber to exhaust them completely."

There was little over three weeks remaining until Harry would join Remus in August. With the Dursleys' newfound tolerance of him, he was pretty confident that he could make it through the rest of July without conflict. This reminded him of the letter Dumbledore had Mundungus Fletcher deliver; the letter that had caused a complete turn around in the Dursleys' treatment of him.

"Sir, what was in that letter you wrote to my aunt and uncle? They've been acting very different since they read it," he inquired.

The pained expression was back on Dumbledore's lined face. "That, Harry, is something I would much rather not have you know," he begged.

Harry, however, was not so easily deterred. "Really, sir, I know the Dursleys have never had a high opinion of me. As a matter of fact, I think they have a higher opinion of Jack the Ripper. Could you please just tell me how you got them to act civilly when even Professor Moody's threats didn't work?"

With a resigned sigh, Dumbledore answered. "It is a great travesty that your aunt and uncle never learned to appreciate you. The great mistake on my part was to expect them to be as welcoming and loving as almost any couple would have been to be given guardianship of you after your parents' deaths. Hopefully someday you can forgive me that mistake,"

"We've been over this before, Professor. It's...it's in the past," Harry lied, unable to find any other way to respond. Truthfully he didn't know if he could ever totally forgive his headmaster for assisting in the robbery of his childhood. For now, he would settle for a working relationship and cooperation. "You were saying?"

"Yes, well, my point was that I never expected that we would have to use threats to restrain your relatives. When even that proved useless last week, I was forced to employ my last resort. Where threats failed, I am hoping that rewards will be successful." Dumbledore looked away, apparently finding the Dursleys' floral patterned curtains quite captivating.

Mulling over the vague answer, Harry came to an unpleasant conclusion. "You're paying them off?"

"I suppose that is one way to put it," Dumbledore replied grimly.

For some reason, the idea that it took bribery to make his aunt and uncle treat him like a human being greatly saddened Harry. The thought that his mother's own sister could despise him so much made him feel like a failure even though he knew that he had never done anything to deserve her hatred. _It doesn't matter, _Harry decided. _After this summer, I won't owe them anything and I'll never have to see them again._

Except he would owe them. Well, perhaps not the Dursleys, but as long as Dumbledore was the one paying for his housing and care, he would be in debt. 

Reaching a decision, Harry said, "Just tell me how much you offered them and I will pay it."

Dumbledore looked stricken. "Harry, there is no reason whatsoever that you should feel inclined to pay them for finally doing their duties as guardians. I am ashamed that it has gone this far at all; you have no reason to feel that you owe anyone."

"Professor, nothing you say will change my mind. I want to leave this place knowing without a doubt that I have paid all my debts, and I can't do that if you pay them for me."

After a little more arguing, Dumbledore finally caved in to Harry's demands. He assured him that he would tell him the price in August when he left and once again had access to his Gringotts account. 

Dumbledore finally prepared to leave. Harry got up from his chair to see him to the door, and as they reached it, the headmaster turned around to face him. 

"These may help you decide whether or not to continue the D.A.," he said, handing Harry a stack of letters. Glancing at the top one, Harry saw the name "Ernie MacMillan" on the return address. He looked back up at Dumbledore questioningly.

Dumbledore looked him directly in the eye. "You affect more people than you would ever believe," he said seriously. "Your efforts are greatly appreciated by many, and they guarantee that when the time comes to fulfill the prophecy, you will not be alone." With an awkward pat on the back, the headmaster strode gracefully out of the Dursleys' house. Harry watched him until he was naught but a small blur in the distance, feeling as if the ever-present burden of fate had been slightly lifted.

Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia returned to the living room as soon as they were convinced Dumbledore was a safe distance away. Dudley had beaten them downstairs and had left the house to meet up with his "gang" before his mother had the chance to stop him. Harry now sat upstairs by his window with Hedwig perched contentedly on his shoulder as the cool evening breeze caressed his face and tousled his hair. 

The stack of letters Dumbledore had given him had contained thank-yous from nearly all of the members of the D.A. Some even expressed enthusiasm for the upcoming year's club and asked what he had planned. Most surprising of all was the letter from Zacharias Smith, unarguably the D.A.'s toughest critic. The letter consisted of a stiff thank-you and even a tiny compliment on Harry's teaching skills. 

Harry lowered his head to his hands and grabbed fistfuls of his messy hair. No matter what he did, it seemed that he was fated to forever be in the spotlight. When he returned to school next term, people would expect him to be the same Harry; Quidditch star, mediocre student, Gryffindor to the core. No one, aside from the few friends who battled by his side in the Department of Mysteries, had any clue of his suffering. Not even Ron and Hermione knew of the burden the prophecy saddled him with.

Did he have the strength left in him to be the leader they needed? Harry wasn't so sure. He still couldn't find the strength in him to open that damned will, so how could he possibly put up a believable façade and pretend to the entire school that he was the same old Harry Potter, dependable, headstrong, and brave?

Like it or not, a war was coming. Harry was finally beginning to grasp all that entailed. He was not the only student who would be affected by the war, and he was not the only person who understood loss. What separated him from the rest of his class was that he had the power to prevent some of that loss. 

The letters he held in front of him contained nothing but praise. Clueless as the writers were to the happenings of his life, they trusted him and were counting on him to help them. They were all afraid of the war, too; they feared for their families, friends, and their own lives, but they were rising to the challenge and doing what they could to fight back. What kind of person would Harry be were he to refuse to continue the D.A. because he was still reeling from his own losses or too busy with his own studies? His friends were depending on him, and they were in this war too.

He made up his mind. Moving over to his desk, he settled into his uncomfortable wooden chair for a long night of writing replies to the letters. The D.A. would continue. Harry would have to put aside his own troubles and be the person his friends needed him to be.

**A/N**: Believe it or not, this was a very hard chapter to write. After lots of editing and rewriting, I still don't feel that great about Harry and Dumbledore's conversation. I didn't get around to some of the issues I wanted to mention, but there should be time for it later. Anyway, Harry's not giving up yet, and he's still a fighter despite what he's been through. I'll try to update soon; like I said, I'll have more time for this story now that school's out. Happy readings!** __**


	10. Whisper to a Scream

**Disclaimer:** Obviously, I didn't write the Harry Potter series. J.K. Rowling is responsible for those masterpieces, and I will always worship her for it. Please don't sue me. I'm already poor and my mom would yell at me.****

**A/N: **If I was smart, I'd say this chapter took so long to get out because I've been so busy, it was hard to write, "I was distraught!", yada yada yada…As I am not really smart, I'll admit that this update is so late because I have been having too much fun enjoying my first few weeks of summer. I've already been out dancing, jet-skiing, seen a few movies, rode in my friend's new hot rod, tormented some of my old high school teachers, sweated out a few Tae Kwon Do club sessions, fixed a lawn mower, and am still somehow managing to not get any calls back on my job applications. All in all, great fun! Now is the part where I apologize profusely, but happily point out that this is my longest chapter yet! Oh, also an ecstatic thank you to my all time high of SEVENTEEN reviewers on the last chapter—I love you all!

**Natalie—**thanks for reading, I should have some feedback for you on your story in my next update; I'd love to have Harry teach DADA this year and even thought about it, but I decided it didn't sound very realistic. He may be capable, but he is still only going to be sixteen and the Ministry would throw a fit I think.

**Wiccan PussyKat—**school may have finished earlier for me, but I got no fall break, a short spring break, and very few holidays that most other colleges got off. But yeah, it is great to be out of school already. July 20th? That's insane—er, nutters (I'm trying)! That club idea sounds interesting, not a bad idea! My lips are sealed about Lupin's role and fate in this fic. Yes, Justin is a bit boastful and sneaky for a Hufflepuff, but then again, Harry is a Gryffindor despite some of his more Slytherin tendencies…goes to show most people are multifaceted. According to Spellcheck, forgivability is not a word. Sorry! But I loved your idea for a measurement system for the severity of curses! I was cracking up as I read your ideas—very creative and Rowling-esque. I'm drifting between feeling sorry for Dumbledore and angry at his manipulations, if you can't tell. You're spot on with your reasoning concerning Harry's schooling. The same thoughts went through my head as a was writing the chapter; Harry's not as studious as Hermione, and would probably not do as well studying completely on his own the whole school year. Love your reviews, especially hyper ones!

**Ootp-rules—**good, someone noticed that Harry forgot to mention a very important detail to Dumbledore! That will come into play this chapter. Thanks for pointing out the DADA error—I read too much fanfiction where it's abbreviated and got that mixed up with the actual books. Sorry! I'll fix it sometime. Other than that, I'm very glad to hear you think everyone's in character and close to canon! Glad to have you reading!

**Avalon, jeff, bfergu01, Omagic, csferosha, Mooncinder, sarily, gaul1, David305, LunaLovegood61, Allie **(thanks! Hizzah's a good thing, right?), **jbfritz, Kjkit, and holly, **thanks for reading and I hope you enjoy the new chapter! Your reviews are very much appreciated!__

**Chapter 10: Whisper to a Scream**

"So what is the point of this again?"

"Saving the princess, I think."

"Riiight. Tell me again how squashing evil mushrooms and turtles with turkey heads can save anyone?" Harry asked, jabbing the 'A' button to make Luigi hop over an angry looking creature with a shiny black shell.

"Oh, shut up Harry. You're not supposed to analyze it, and you have to admit it's fun."

"Pointless fun," Harry mumbled under his breath, as Luigi was sucked down a green pipe.

Heather had called for him at the Dursleys' the day after Dumbledore's visit. Harry had been in the kitchen fixing a sandwich when Aunt Petunia answered the phone, and was surprised when she snarled his name and thrust the headpiece at him. The only phone call he had ever gotten before that moment was from Ron, and it was all he could do not to stutter when he heard Heather's voice on the other end of the line. Luckily, she had taken control of the conversation and casually asked him to visit on Monday so that she would not die of boredom during the house arrest her parents had cruelly inflicted on her.

As Heather was the first muggle Harry would ever dare call a friend, this was the first time he had been invited over to a muggle house just to "hang out". He had been a bit unsure of himself at first, but the casual atmosphere of the Gaines household was contagious and he soon felt very relaxed. Unlike the Dursleys', Heather's home had a cluttered, lived-in appearance. Magazines and books were strewn across the coffee table, some of the pictures on the walls hung crooked, and the refrigerator was covered with reminder notes and a wide variety of magnets. Harry imagined his own house would have looked similar had his parents survived, and surprisingly, the thought made him smile fondly.

Heather's mother, Bridget, had been home when he came over, and Harry found her to be a kind and friendly woman. Bridget was slightly plump with short, curly brown hair and rosy-red cheeks. She had beamed at him and shaken his hand emphatically when her daughter had introduced him, and smiled and waved until they left the room. As they walked upstairs to Heather's room, she had whispered in his ear that her mother believed he was a model student at Smeltings and was thrilled that her daughter was finally settling down and dating a 'respectable young gentleman'. She giggled and rolled her eyes. Harry hid a blush and a bit of guilt knowing that neither Heather nor her mother really knew anything about him. However, he decided to excuse his lies as they were necessary for both Heather's and his own safety.

So far, he was truly enjoying himself and was extremely grateful to spend his Monday outside the borders of Dursley Hell. Had it not been for Heather, he would surely be straining his eyes for the fifth hour straight to read more of his defense books. While not a despicable task in itself, Harry had been holed away in his room for days doing nothing but reading, and it was beginning to get to extremely boring. He was also grateful to be in the company of someone who wasn't disgusted by him, even if she was a bit strange herself.

Despite the fact that Heather's room was painted in a frightful hot pink and decorated with kittens reminiscent of the former "High Inquisitor" Umbridge, Harry felt comfortable with her. She was easy-going, funny, and so chatty she reminded Harry of Lavender Brown (with a higher IQ). In fact, she talked almost nonstop about everything from Justin Finch-Fletchley to world hunger, and was still going strong.

"So Harry, what do you do for fun?"

"Fun?" he asked distractedly, attention focused on guiding Luigi to escape a troupe of ghosts chasing him through a castle.

Heather punched his bicep lightly, resulting in him accidentally running Luigi straight into a bubbling pit of lava. "You heard me! Fun. You know, something that keeps you going in this dreadful, hopeless world."

He sighed as the words 'Game Over' blinked on the television screen, and searched his mind for a suitable answer. _"I like to fly on my broomstick and read up on unusual hexes and jinxes," _was not an answer one would hear from a normal muggle teenager.

"I…uh…I write letters to my friends from school—er, St. Brutus', that is. Sometimes I watch the telly or read. Mainly I just try to avoid the Dursleys." _Well, at least part of it was true. _

Heather nodded sympathetically; he had told her all about the Dursleys and their view of him. Of course, the story of his parents' deaths and the main reason for his relatives' hatred of him had to be altered a bit, but she had gotten the gist.

"How about you? What do you do for fun?" Harry asked, as she expertly directed Mario through a game level full of leaping killer fish, collapsing bridges, and flying turkey-headed turtles.

"I visit my friends, shop, go to parties, that kind of thing. Speaking of which, a friend of mine in Westfield is having a party this Friday if you'd like to come. I think Justin's going to be there."

Harry would have liked to accept the invitation for no other reason than to find out first-hand what went on at parties, but could list about a thousand reasons why it was a bad idea, and impossible to boot. "Uh, no thanks. I'm not allowed to leave the neighborhood."

"Oh, honestly. Harry, you go to St. Brutus'. Sneak out!" Heather ordered him incredulously.

He could feel a blush on his cheeks as he tried to come up with a better excuse. "I can't because…I…" It was very hard to make up an adequate lie while she was beckoning impatiently for him to deliver an answer. "I'm on probation!" he finally exclaimed, inwardly congratulating himself on his quick thinking.

"Wow, really? What for?" she inquired excitedly.

Harry got the feeling he had just dug himself a deeper hole. Wracking his brain again, he said, "Er, I got in a fight with a street gang." Visions of 'Big D' and his henchmen floated dimly in the recesses of his mind. "The police came and broke it up, but now I'm stuck reporting to a probation officer every time I leave the house. Besides, even if I did go, this gang is always after me," Harry added, pretending to be annoyed

Heather looked worried. "You really shouldn't be fighting. It's dangerous, and it won't do anything for you in the long run except get you in trouble. You're lucky all you got was probation; you could've been hurt," she said seriously.

"I didn't start it!" Harry replied indignantly. "It was dark out and they jumped me before I even knew they were there. I had no way to defend myself. I wouldn't start a fight for no reason." He didn't know why it was so important to him to make her believe his innocence in the imaginary fight.

She regarded him appraisingly for a moment, then abruptly switched off the Nintendo in the middle of her game. Harry watched her with confusion as she jumped up from the shaggy pink rug and began rifling through a dresser drawer.

"It won't do to have you wandering around the neighborhood alone and defenseless at night, especially when this dangerous gang is after you. If there's one thing my dad taught me, it's to always carry some sort of defense weapon," she said, struggling to speak over the noise she was making as she sorted through the drawer.

Harry assumed Heather had found what she was looking for when she plopped back onto the rug clutching what looked like a miniature spray can and something compact and shiny. He looked up at her questioningly when she tried to hand the objects over to him.

"This little can is pepper spray; aim it for your attacker's eyes and it will make them tear up bad enough for you to make a run for it. This," she said, holding up the shiny object, "is a last resort only. If you're being attacked and you think your life is in danger, this has a three-inch blade that can be pushed out with a flick of your thumb." Heather demonstrated. "Really, though, _last resort only._ Pepper spray hurts like hell, but this thing'll leave a big bloody hole in someone!"

The thought of carrying a knife and pepper spray made Harry a little nervous, but when he thought about it, they couldn't do half the damage his wand could. If he felt perfectly comfortable being constantly armed with a potentially lethal stick of wood, then a bit of metal and a spray can shouldn't bother him at all. He accepted the items and offered to pay Heather for them, but she laughed the idea off.

"I have about three more of each where those came from, plus a taser and two and a half years of self-defense training. Like I was saying, my dad's kind of a freak when it comes to my safety," she answered.

Personally, Harry thought all her father's safety techniques were being rather wasted if Heather's recent intoxication was any clue to her normal behavior. All the weapons and training in the world weren't enough to protect a person who was too pissed to use it. Harry thought it was wiser not to mention this to Heather, however. He could only hope that the state he had found her in when they first met was a very rare occurrence.

Heather and her mother somehow succeeded in talking him into staying for dinner that evening. Mrs. Gaines had prepared a nice roast with a vegetable platter that would have been much more enjoyable had Mr. Gaines not been eyeing Harry suspiciously throughout the entire meal. Harry gulped his food down quickly and pretended not to notice. Heather, however, ate calmly, alternating between shooting glares at her father and apologetic glances at Harry. Apparently Mr. Gaines wasn't quite as euphoric about Heather's new 'boyfriend' as Mrs. Gaines.

Harry was relieved when dinner finally ended. While he was helping clear the table, Mrs. Gaines pulled him aside and assured him it wasn't that her husband didn't like him, he was just a bit overprotective of his daughter. Harry thought that could qualify for "Understatement of the Year", but nodded politely anyway.

After a gruff "Good-bye" from Mr. Gaines and a promise to visit again soon to Heather and Bridget, Harry started back to the Dursleys' at sunset. He slowed his steps when he saw an old woman with odd black and white streaked hair approaching him, leaning heavily on a thick wooden cane. His hand hovered warily yet inconspicuously near his hidden wand at his waistband. The woman was watching him intently, which made Harry nervous considering he had never seen her on Privet Drive before.

He let his guard down when the woman winked and grinned broadly. Her body and facial features may have been completely different, but Harry could recognize Tonks' body language and smile anywhere.

"Wotcher, Tonks," said Harry, stealing the Auror's favorite greeting.

"Right back at ya, you little arse! I see ickle Harrykins has a girlfriend!" came Tonks' voice, sounding too youthful to be natural for a hunchbacked old woman.

Harry made a face at her and shook his head. "She's just a friend, although it's none of your business anyway. Now watch what you say or I'll steal your cane," he threatened jokingly. He and Tonks had gradually become friendlier with every guard shift she had. Harry appreciated that she would actually converse with him during her duty, unlike the newer guards who stayed hidden the entire time, bitter at being assigned to baby-sit.

"You wouldn't!" Tonks cried in mock horror, holding the cane tightly to her chest.

"You're right; not with half the neighborhood watching, at least." Harry gestured to several houses where glimpses of nosy neighbors could be seen peering out from behind floral-patterned curtains.

Tonks gaped, bright blue eyes bulging beneath wrinkled, heavy eyelids. "I still can't believe you grew up in this strange place and managed to turn out relatively normal."

An unflattering snort escaped Harry as he marveled at the concept of him being the normal one and the Dursleys being weird.

"Coming from a woman who likes to color her hair hot pink and can barely walk straight, I'm not sure that's a compliment," Harry quipped, earning him a jab from Tonks' cane.

The two made small talk for a few minutes before Tonks broke into her usual report on wizarding current events and attacks.

"This latest attack has Dumbledore more than a little worried," Tonks said, her demeanor changing from lighthearted to serious in a flash.

"Muggles again?" Harry asked.

Tonks shook her head. "Muggles _still._ We don't know why he hasn't attacked any wizards yet. It's not as if he has any reason to lay low now that the world knows he's back. The Order reckons he's waiting for the opportunity to make a big entrance," she said darkly.

That didn't sound good to Harry. "How do they figure?"

"Let me put it this way: The most recent attack was only eight blocks from your house. It was a family with a boy about your same age, height, and hair color. Even had glasses." Tonks answered with an air of sadness and anxiety.

Harry wasn't nearly as scared as he was angry and remorseful. All of this death for him… Voldemort was probably having a spiffing good time, taunting the Order and the Ministry by letting them know how close he was to his first goal. Harry hoped that his trust in Dumbledore wasn't misplaced. If the Dursleys really couldn't provide him enough safety, his wouldn't be the only wasted life.

"Still with me, Harry?" Tonks asked concernedly. "I'm sorry to always be the bearer of bad news."

Although he couldn't quite wipe the frown off his face, he shook his head furiously in denial. "Don't worry about it, Tonks. I need to know what's going on, and I'm not likely to get much good news while we're at war, am I? Thanks for giving me news at all. It's not like anyone else will, or can, since it's dangerous to send information by owl."

Tonks' expression lightened a bit. "Glad to help. I think most of us in the Order agree you have a right to know what's happening, even if you're not a member yet yourself. Well, a few of us at least…Or maybe just me and Remus…but since my opinion's the only one that matters anyway, the rest can get stuffed," she finished with a grin.

Harry returned the grin, though he hoped that the Order did see him as more than a victim or pawn in the war. Thinking about it, though, Dumbledore never mentioned telling the Prophecy to the Order, so they probably wouldn't think of him as anything more than a troublesome child. It was good to know at the very least that he had Remus and Tonks by his side.

"Thanks again, Tonks. You've done a lot for me, and I don't give you enough credit," he said appreciatively.

"Damn right you don't!" she teased. "I'm about to do more for you, too. Here's another bottle of Pomfrey's Dreamless Sleep potion. Your other bottle should be about empty in a week, if I remember correctly."

As Harry accepted the bottle graciously, a memory that had been lurking at the back of his mind made a sudden reappearance. He gasped and stopped dead in his tracks.

"What is it?" Tonks asked in alarm, tripping over her own feet when she turned to run back to where he had halted.

"I completely forgot! I had a dream the other night I meant to tell Dumbledore about! It was important!" he exclaimed, feeling incredibly stupid for forgetting.

Tonks made him recount the entire dream, which Harry did in detail and without argument. She listened intently the entire time, her aged face changing from worried to angered, and finally, confused.

"French Toast?"

Harry nodded.

The look Tonks gave him was indecipherable. Harry sighed. "I'm not crazy. Besides, it worked, didn't it?"

"I suppose, but _French Toast_? You can't expect that to work for long. This is _The Dark Lord_ we're talking about here!" she stressed. "At the very least, that warrants Belgian Waffles with whipped cream _and _strawberries!"

"Haha," Harry said humorlessly, playfully shoving her away. Tonks chuckled lightly before straightening up as much as her humpback would allow and repositioning her cane.

"This is serious, though," she said with a small frown, "I'll let Dumbledore know immediately. Keep working on that Occlumency, Harry. I know it's tough; Lord knows I'm rubbish at it, but you know how important it is."

Tonks walked with him all the way back to the Dursleys, where Harry bade her farewell and ran immediately to the sanctuary of his room. He didn't know or care what his relatives were doing so long as they didn't bother him. After flipping on the light switch, he stripped down to his boxers and settled into the thin, threadbare sheets of his bed.

It was still too early to call it a night, so Harry opened **Complicated and Obscure Defensive Charms** to the page he had left off. Despite the unconvincing title, he found the book one of the most informative defense texts he had read. It listed and detailed a great many spells he had never even heard of before, but could imagine using against Death Eaters and dark wizards. Of course, he couldn't actually try any of the charms yet, but he had practiced the wand movements and pronunciation and was confident he would be able to perform most of them back at Hogwarts.

Currently, he was digesting the section on "Rare but Effective Shield Charms". There were only a few that Harry was familiar with. He was surprised that the author of the book labeled the "Protego" spell as 'basic' and 'child's play', but as he read further, he could see why. The chapter described over forty other shield charms; some that defended against many spells and others tailor-made to counter specific, dangerous curses. A few shield charms even required several people to work them, which inspired Harry to add them to a list of spells to try in the DA.

The shield that most intrigued him was called "Myrian's Wall". According to the book it had been discovered rather than created over six hundred years ago. Two wizards and a witch had been defending their town during an invasion of dark wizards when all three unwittingly shouted the incantation for a simple defensive spell simultaneously. Instead of three separate spells, they fused together and formed a wall of translucent yellow light. The attacking wizards found that none of their curses could penetrate the wall, while the defending townsfolk could fire straight through it. The three casters were able to hold off the dark wizards long enough for the villagers to gain the upper hand, and the new spell was named after the town it had saved.

It was assumed that the bond of trust and friendship between the witch and wizards were responsible for the strange reaction that resulted in "Myrian's Wall". Since the spell's discovery, only a few select groups of people had been able to perform it, and every time the spell was successful the casters had been close friends. The book said it was not taught in magical schools because the charm rarely worked. Harry was willing to bet that, with a little practice, Ron, Hermione, and he could master it.

At eleven o'clock, Harry put the book aside and set his glasses on the nightstand. He downed a dose of Dreamless Sleep potion and was dead to the world soon after he closed his eyes.

…

_The veil glowed ethereally in the darkness of the Department of Mysteries. Although the air was musty and still, the curtains billowed as if disturbed by a heavy breeze. Against his will, Harry drifted closer and closer to it, the whispers behind it becoming louder but no less jumbled._

_He came to a stop mere feet from the veil, and the curtains mysteriously stilled. The babbling whispers suddenly became agitated and frantic. The sound was spine-chilling and made Harry want nothing more than to run away, but an invisible force kept him anchored to the spot._

_Without warning, something burst through the delicate fabric of the curtains, and he yelped in fright. It was a hand; a bloody, flailing hand. If he could have, he would have backed away. As it was, Harry was forced to watch, paralyzed, as the battered, bony hand grasped at his shoe and pant leg, struggling to escape the archwayl._

_"Help!" shrieked a voice separate from the anguished whispers. "Please, I'm almost through! Oh god, help!"_

_Sirius. The voice had haunted his dreams for weeks, so Harry knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that the terrified voice belonged to his godfather. Whatever power had gripped him before shattered, and he found himself able to move freely again. Desperately, he grabbed hold of the thrashing arm and pulled with all his might. _

_The gangly, abused body of his godfather fell sprawled across the cold stone floor. Blood stained Sirius' raggedy clothes, and his hair was as long and scraggly as when he escaped Azkaban, but his body shuddered and heaved with life. Hot tears trailed down Harry's cheeks as he dropped to his knees and disbelievingly touched his godfather's warm, real shoulder._

_"You're alive," Harry gasped, amazed._

_The shaking lessened, and with much exertion Sirius was able to raise his head and look at him. Harry jumped forward and threw his arms around his godfather's thin neck. _

_"I'm sorry, I should have gone after you. I tried, but they told me it was too late. I shouldn't have believed them; I knew you weren't dead, I heard the whispers," Harry babbled._

_"Shh, it's okay. You're here now, and that's all that matters," Sirius consoled, patting his back weakly._

_A new flood of tears washed down his face and he hugged his godfather even tighter. Sirius drew back, however, and grasped Harry's shoulders firmly. Confused, he blinked the moisture out of his eyes and met his godfather's intent stare._

_"I need you to listen very closely, Harry. Did the Dark Lord get a hold of the Prophecy?"_

_An uncomfortable feeling bubbled up in his stomach, but he brushed it aside. "No," Harry answered, "he didn't. What does it matter though? You're back, you can worry about all that later," he said, smiling._

_He made to stand up, but Sirius grabbed his wrist and jerked him back to the floor. Harry frowned, but complied._

_Sirius' face was grim and determined. "Harry, this is important. You need to tell me what the Prophecy said." The suspicious feeling was suddenly back and amplified. _Sirius had just returned from beyond the veil; what did he care about the Prophecy so much for? And since when did he refer to Voldemort as the "Dark Lord"? _Harry pulled his wrist out of his godfather's surprisingly strong grip and backed away ever-so-slightly._

_"Sirius, why don't we just go. We can talk about this later," he said warily._

_Was it just his imagination, or did his godfather's eyes just glint red? Harry backed away a little more, and this time Sirius did notice. With surprising speed and agility for someone who appeared so battered and weary, Sirius sprang up from the floor and strode powerfully up to his startled godson. _

_"You must tell me," he demanded. "If you don't, how am I supposed to protect you from the Dark Lord?"_

_"What's wrong with you? Why do you keep calling him the 'Dark Lord'?" Harry cried, trying to keep a distance between them as Sirius circled him aggressively._

_Unexpectedly, Harry found himself tackled to the hard floor. His godfather's weight trapped him helplessly on the ground, and before he could make a sound, his throat was constricted by a thin, strong hand. In a state of shock, all he could do was gape in disbelief at his attacker's face._

_He realized much too late that he should have trusted his instincts. The face may have been Sirius', but there was no trace of his godfather in it. There was an abundance of hate and impatience, and a glimmer of crimson passed through his irises every so often._

_"Tell me," growled Not-Sirius, tightening his grip._

_Harry shook his head as much as he could considering the vise around his neck. Flashbacks of Dumbledore's office were playing on his mind again, though, and he knew it wouldn't be long before his mental resistance broke. _

_"Tell me," the fraud repeated coldly._

_With Sirius' face glaring down at him, it was impossible to focus on anything else. He was failing; all the deaths the Prophecy was responsible for were for naught._

_Black spots began to blur his vision, and his lungs burned. Harry couldn't bear to look at Sirius' face any longer and shifted his gaze to the infinite blackness beyond it. As Dumbledore's voice began to recite the Prophecy in his head, he closed his eyes and wished for unconsciousness, death, anything to end the pain and violation gripping him._

_His wish was answered._

_…_

Harry rolled out of bed and sprinted carelessly down the hall. On the way, he knocked into various objects and walls, but took no notice of the pain or noise they caused. Once in the bathroom, he leaned in close to the mirror, gasping for breath, and inspected his sore neck.

There was nothing wrong with it. The skin was smooth and unblemished, with no signs of strangulation or injury. He closed his eyes and leaned his forearms heavily on the sink, forehead hitting the glass of the mirror with a thump.

It was impossible to block out any longer. Sirius was dead, and there would be no miraculous return from beyond the veil. Denial had done nothing for Harry but cause extra pain and vulnerability. His naïve delusions had nearly revealed important information to Voldemort tonight. He felt ashamed and gullible; it was no wonder the Order didn't trust him.

His hand drifted slowly up to caress his neck where minutes before he had nearly believed his godfather was strangling him. He had a sudden, frightening urge to hit something. Disgust consumed him; Harry was sick of his gullibility, sick of being predictable, sick of being used, and sick of being weak.

Tomorrow he would get serious with Occlumency, and he wouldn't sleep until he made progress.

...

**A/N: **I almost left off at the end of the dream, but then I figured it wouldn't kill me to go a little further. So, Harry's finally moving on to the next stage of grief, which means the issue of the will should be addressed soon. Heather's a rebel without a cause, Tonks is Tonks, Sirius is NOT Sirius, and it's late and I'm going to bed. To those who are already out of school, CHERISH YOUR SUMMERS!!! To those who are still in school, HANG ON, YOU'LL MAKE IT!!! To those not in school, don't let your job stress you out too much! To anyone I missed, take care and enjoy life—always remember, it could be worse. You could have a scar on your forehead, no parents, and the weight of the world jumping up and down on your shoulders!


	11. Keep Myself Awake

**Disclaimer:** Obviously, I didn't write the Harry Potter series. J.K. Rowling is responsible for those masterpieces, and I will always worship her for it. Please don't sue me. I'm already poor and all you'd get from me is a fifteen year-old TV, a futon and some clothes that fit me better than you. The only way you would get my computer is by prying it from my cold, dead fingers.****

**Author's Note: **

Sorry it's taking me so long to update lately. Contrary to the last delay, though, there is a reason this time. I have been busy helping my grandfather take care of my grandmother, who was recently diagnosed with esophageal cancer. It's really very sad; my grandpa just lost my dad/his son last year to lung cancer, and now he has to go through it all over again with his wife. I'm doing my best to help out around their house for a few days, and driving them back and forth from appointments at the hospital. I'd say from now on I will be updating every 7-10 days. If I take any longer than that, feel free to yell at me. Now, for review responses:

**Wiccan**** PussyKat—**Happy Belated Birthday! As a present, I will dedicate a chapter to you (not this one though, it's not really worthy. I have some good ones coming up soon though, you'll get one of those!) Sorry I once again failed to fulfill your wish, but I did write a lot faster for you. Yes, I certainly am familiar with the Stensons…Flawed Perfection is my current favorite fic. Liked your comment about Harry having fun. Take it easy on Heather, though, she is a clueless muggle! Yep, that's why I wanted to know about probation, and thanks for answering for me! As for the self-defense stuff, I've often thought that wizards need to think more outside the box. One of Voldie and the purebloods' weaknesses is they are so disgusted by muggles that they don't know much about them at all. Harry and co. could use this to their advantage by surprising them with the creative weapons muggles have (like the example you gave in the review!) And the dream—it's shameful how much I enjoyed writing that…I just can't resist the opportunity to torture Harry. Answers to your questions will be in this chapter and the one following. As for the stages of grief—I've been through it and I'll just say they aren't the same for everyone…unless I'm still stuck on denial and don't know it…that's not a pleasant thought… (:0 Ugh, why do I always update so late? I need sleep…As always, I don't call it a chapter until I get your review, so thanks for reading and thanks for the entertaining comments!

**Eschiva****—**sorry I'm taking so long. I'm having a bit of writer's block at this point in the story; I have a lot of exciting things planned for later in the fic, and I guess that makes me a little bored with this part of it. Also, I have a lot going on in the dreaded "real life" right now.

**Omagic****—**I found it really interesting that you think Voldemort was afraid to touch Harry after books four and five. Personally, I thought book four made it seem quite the opposite (touching Harry's face, although maybe that was more to prove that he could, not because he wanted to. However, if that was the case, why touch his face? Why not just smack him or punch him in the arm or something?) Not that I'm contradicting you, it's just cool to get a different perspective on it. I'm not so sure about book five—Voldie really didn't get a chance to touch him in that one as far as I can recall. As for your question, I have noticed a few spelling errors I've made, but I think I've gone back and changed most of them. I have no beta; alas, I can't even get my little sister to finish reading what I've written so far and help out. She's only up to chapter four! Maybe I should get one, though. Right now I'm especially worried about this part of the story getting boring, and it would be nice to have someone either relieve my fears or help me spice it up a little.

**DeathWind**—I love you! You have really boosted my confidence. I would be honored if you put my story on your website. I must admit that I am not J.K. Rowling under a pseudonym (blushes), but I'm flattered that you asked!

**thesteffis****—**My current plan is to finish up the summer, take a break then do a sequel covering Harry's actual sixth year. No ships for the summer. There is, however, a ship that I've always wanted to see, but I don't know if I have the guts to write it. If I did it, it would take place in the sixth year. If I did a ship, it wouldn't take the main stage and it would not, under any circumstances, be the least bit "fluffy". Anyway, thanks for the compliment and for reading and reviewing! I'm glad you like the story!****

**Dweem****-angel, tansy1354, kjkit, Madfoot Moony, jeff, Faceless One, Rhysel Ash, jbfritz, gaul1, dragongirlG, cintishortstop, mooncinder, shy3wolf, LunaLovegood61, **

**Chapter 11: Keep Myself Awake**

Petunia Dursley sipped her morning tea and watched with disdain as her nephew hustled purposefully around the kitchen. As it was barely six in the morning, she had hoped to have at least an hour to herself without having to face a grumpy husband or a moody son that barely spoke to her anymore. Luck would have it that her life's curse, Harry Potter, would choose that very morning to make an appearance.

As far as Petunia was concerned, that boy was the source of every conflict her once happy family was now plagued with. Dudley used to be such a happy, talkative child, but since The Boy caused those wretched Dementors to attack him, he hadn't been the same. Her little Duddiekins hardly said a word to her unless it was to ask for spending money, and he was always out with his friends, sometimes all night. What horrible tortures had those creatures submitted her baby to in order to instigate such a drastic change?

Even Vernon was different lately. Now that he had to do much of the handiwork and yard work while that little brat lazed about upstairs or did lord knows what with the tramp down the street, her husband's temper had been much worse than usual. Petunia knew how frustrated he must be; after all, she now did most of the cooking, housework and gardening on her own. Still, she was hurt that Vernon had taken to snapping at Dudley and herself at the breakfast table in place of The Boy, who was probably lying about carefree in Dudley's second bedroom, gloating at his good fortune.

Somehow, feeding and housing her sister's wretched disgrace of a son for _fifteen_ long years wasn't enough on its own to be rewarded. That strange old man with the strange ugly clothes held the money over Vernon and her heads as if _they _were the unworthy ones. The nerve! Sometimes even the enormous payment he promised didn't seem worth the strain it was putting on her family. She and Vernon had both decided, however, that they must stick to the agreement. It would only be one more year after this—only one more summer, actually, even if it felt like a whole year…

Which it certainly did, especially on a day like today. Petunia had only just sat down to enjoy a nice, steaming cup of black tea with honey when The Boy came plodding into her kitchen. Locks of unruly black hair bounced about as he rushed about making a pot of coffee, which she was sure he was only brewing to be a nuisance. As far as she knew, he didn't even like coffee. In addition, that despicable hair was shaggier and messier than ever, and The Boy was probably elated to wear it that way knowing she couldn't comment on it.

Hopefully a dirty look and an annoyed "humph" would be enough to make the boy leave her in peace…no, The Boy only paused a moment to glance over his shoulder with confusion written in his dark emerald eyes. _Lily's dark emerald eyes, _she thought, softening momentarily. The nostalgia for her long lost sister was over as soon as it struck, however, as she took in the whole picture. They may have been Lily's eyes, but they now inhabited James Potter's face.

It pained Petunia to remember Lily as a child, when she had been clean and unaware that those freaks even existed. Her sister had been a quiet, timid girl who had looked up to her, but all that changed with the arrival of that dratted letter on her eleventh birthday. In one fell swoop, the sweet, submissive little sister was replaced with a chatty, excited child who couldn't wait to become a 'witch'. She stepped onto an garish train at King's Cross in September and didn't even look back to wave goodbye to Petunia.

When Petunia and her parents went to pick Lily up from the station the next summer, her eyes were bright with excitement and she prattled on the entire trip home about all the 'wonderful' tricks she had learned. Mr. and Mrs. Evans had been so happy for their youngest daughter; she was more confident and talkative than ever before, and had finished her school year with top scores in most of her subjects. At that point, it was too late for Lily. The freaks had already swayed her over to their side, and the more Petunia tried to convince her sister how unnatural and dangerous magic was, the more distant the girl grew. Still, every summer she had tried to get the old Lily back—the Lily would have laughed at the very idea of wands, spells, and wizards. It wasn't until her sister announced her engagement to that arrogant Potter prat that Petunia gave up and cut ties with her for good.

The Boy was doomed from birth; Petunia knew that as well as she knew that Mr. Walters down the street was having a torrid affair with his housekeeper behind his wife's back. Harry Potter's life was tainted with the world of magic, and it was obvious to Petunia that magic thrived on the taking of young life. After all, it had devoured her sister and her parents, even that vile James Potter. Thanks to Vernon, Petunia had just managed to escape the clutches of Lily's abnormal world and start a family of her own. All that had changed with the unwanted arrival of her sister's child on her doorstep.

Looking at her nephew now, Petunia wondered over the same question that entered her mind everyday for the past fifteen years. _What had possessed her to take in that scarred, abnormal infant that fateful November morning?_ She _knew _the danger he represented, and the letter in the basket with him implied that he was even more of a risk than most of his kind. All she could ever come up with to answer that question was the lost look in those tragic green eyes, eyes that were an exact match to those of the sister she had once loved. Harry had been an adorable baby, Petunia hated to admit, even with that terrible scar disfiguring his forehead, and she just didn't have the heart to do the right thing and take the child to the orphanage straight away. Her maternal instincts must have overridden her common sense that day.

Cradling her fast-cooling mug and watching detachedly the scrawny, bespectacled, yet striking boy bustling about her kitchen, Petunia Dursley feared now as she did everyday that her moment of weakness would, one way or another, destroy her family. That thought was all it ever took to squash any sympathy she may ever have felt for The Boy.

…

Were it not for powers of caffeine and an ice-cold shower, Harry would have been lying face down in bed, sleeping deeply and a sitting duck for Voldemort's trespasses. He was on his fourth cup of coffee, tastelessly taking huge gulps with every page he flipped of the Occlumency.

Despite the exhaustion he felt from studying non-stop all night and morning on only several hours of sleep, he thought the progress he was making was remarkable. It probably helped that he was more desperate now that he realized the severe consequences of _not _learning Occlumency. Never would he have believed it was possible to learn Occlumency in a day after the lessons with Snape last year. However, he now felt confident that he could effectively block out and stave off the persuasion of a wizard with moderate will power. This only encouraged Harry to study more diligently, though, because Voldemort was far more than a mediocre wizard.

…

By noon, he had finished the book and begun working on the strategies it instructed to build strength in Occlumency. One idea was to fill the practice area with as many noises and distractions as possible, so Harry had turned up one of Dudley's old radios to full volume and let his alarm clock buzz. It was enough to drive a person insane, and he sincerely hoped the Dursleys were being affected by the noise as much as he was.

Once he began meditating, he forced the sounds into the background, and they slowly faded from his notice. Whenever a stray thought or memory that could be used against him flickered through his mind, Harry quickly brought up his anchor thought. The book had recommended keeping the thought of a meaningless object at the ready to distract from thoughts that could actually be used to link to more important ones. Since he was already well-practiced at using French toast as a distraction, the anchor thought had taken very little consideration.

It seemed to Harry that Occlumency was little more than learning to recognize an intrusion into one's thoughts and developing complete faculty over one's own mind. Not that either task was nearly as simple as the definition made it sound, but it certainly explained Occlumency better than "Clear your mind!"

During the day, it was easy enough for Harry to recognize interference by Voldemort as his burning scar would alert him. Controlling his thoughts was the problem, of course. Voldemort had proven last night that he was willing and eager to stoop to any level to take what he wanted. _A stereotypical Slytherin.___

That was where the other Occlumency strategy came into play. "The only way to be entirely prepared to fight a Legilimency attack is to know your greatest emotional weakness and be capable of putting it aside during the invasion like any other thought," the book read. It also said that the only way to do this was to confront the weakness and accept it, or else it would not matter how good he was at every other aspect of Occlumency, he could still be taken advantage of.

After his last nightmare, Harry figured it was pretty obvious that his greatest emotional weakness was Sirius. Or more specifically, Sirius' death. He was only just now beginning to accept his godfather's death, and the horrible dream the previous night made moving on seem even more impossible.

Reading half a book on Occlumency in less than twelve hours was taxing enough; finding that all his hard work was meaningless because he couldn't move past Sirius made the exhaustion unbearable. Harry climbed up from the hard floor and flopped bonelessly onto his bed; tired, aching muscles protesting the whole way. _Can't fall asleep, _he reminded himself, _so I'll just lay here for a minute until I get a little strength back. _As he lay there, he forced himself to think of Sirius and nothing else.

All that came to mind was the nightmare version of Sirius. In a flash, he once again felt the sensations of being pinned helplessly to the floor with his godfather's fingers digging into the skin of his neck, thumbs crushing his throat. Harry squeezed his eyes shut and willed the memory away. That was certainly not how he wanted to remember Sirius. When he reopened his eyes, all he could do was stare blankly ahead. It was then, staring at the parchment on his nightstand, that he remembered the will.

The last thing on earth that he wanted to do right now was read his godfather's will. It would be like surrendering; giving up on the man who had eaten rats just to be near when Harry had needed him and accepting money or objects in his place. As if any amount of money, property, or gifts could ever replace the man who had loved him and offered him a home. What sickened him even more was that fact that he had been listed in the will at all when he was the one most responsible for Sirius' death.

Unfortunately, Harry had been sent a will. If Sirius had named him in it, then that could only mean that Sirius would have wanted him to open it and accept whatever it said. He had already put it off far too long, and perhaps it could give him some of the closure he so desperately longed for…even if he didn't deserve it.

Reluctant yet determined, he reached out and picked up the will with a shaky hand.

**_Last Will and Testament of Sirius Black_**

****

Harry took a deep breath before continuing. The first bit was a lot of legal jargon which he skimmed through quickly before surprisingly finding a section written by Sirius himself.

**_To My Beloved Godson,_**

****

**_First of all, I must apologize for dying on you. I was never a very good godfather, and I'm sure I'm even less satisfactory dead. The most I can hope for concerning my death is that I went down fighting—or even better, that I went down fighting for you._**

****

**_If I know you at all, you are most likely feeling sad or guilty about my passing. Since I understand a thing or two about loss, I won't tell you not to be upset on my account. What I will ask is that you do your best to move on quickly and allow your family and friends to help. Yes, I said family, because you know as well as I do that it is love and not blood that determines family. _**

****

**_I wish I had lived to see you in a time not overshadowed by war with Voldemort. As that was not the case, all I have to offer are a few terribly depressing but utterly honest words of advice for you and your friends: Appreciate each other and everyday that you have together, because war is unpredictable. Hell, even in times of peace, life itself is unpredictable. Take it from someone who knows: Don't leave arguments to be sorted out tomorrow, because you never know if what you said in the heat of the moment will be the last words you'll ever speak to that person._**

****

**_Also, train hard and learn to defend yourself, but don't forget to have a little fun. While there is so much of your father in you, one major difference is that you never seem to take a break. It wouldn't kill you to take a day off from saving the world to play a few harmless pranks to relieve some stress. You probably don't think you have time for fun anymore, but that's why I'm telling you this. Constant worrying will dig you an early grave._**

****

**_As for me, don't fret. I know I'm not. By now, I should be kicking back with your mum and dad and letting them hear what a troublemaking little prat you are. Only kidding of course; I'll be telling them what a strong, compassionate, and most importantly, quidditch-star son they have. Then I'll tell them about all of your adventures, which will probably make your dad proud and your mum faint._**

****

**_Speaking of things that would make your mum faint, I beg you to enjoy all of the nice, um…things I am relinquishing to you in this will. Check out vault number 771 in particular as it holds some very interesting items you may want to make use of someday—remember the Marauder's Map if you come across anything requiring a password. Another thing to bear in mind: I will be very upset if the next time I see you (a century from now, after you've grown up, married, had seven children, and passed away painlessly in your sleep), I find that you did not use up every last galleon of the Black family fortune you inherited._**

****

**_Although I did not show it well, know that I did love you, Harry. The greatest regret in my life is that I handed you over to Hagrid the night your parents died, and foolishly attempted to exact my revenge on Peter instead of fulfilling my duties as your godfather. Your parents would have been ashamed of me, as I myself am. It is too late, I think, but I would like to ask your forgiveness anyway._**

****

**_My guardianship of you will pass now to Remus, who would have been the better choice to be your godfather anyway. I hope that you are happy with this decision, and that Moony gives you the attention and support that I _shouldhave_ given you all along. However, you can trust that if it is at all possible, I will be watching out for you even now._**

****

**_I could not be prouder of the man you have become, and I look forward to meeting you again in happier circumstances many decades from now._**

****

**_ With Love,_**

****

**_Sirius_**

****

Even after finishing the letter, Harry couldn't take his eyes off it. Before he even realized it, a silent teardrop slipped down his face and splattered on the parchment. Holding back tears was the furthest thing from his mind at the moment.

He couldn't have cared less about reading the rest of the will; it would have to wait a little while. As far as Harry was concerned, the best gift of all was his godfather's last (and unexpected) words. It stirred so many emotions in him that he didn't know whether to sob, scream, or do nothing at all. He settled on rereading the letter several times before doing all three, muffling the sounds with his pillow.

…

That evening, he sat on the back step of the house with his arms wrapped around his knees, lost in thought. The setting sun seemed an external reflection of the closure he finally felt. There were still so many issues to sort out, but the most important one had finally been put to rest. Sirius loved him, and didn't blame him for his death.

Although Harry would never admit it, he had been surprised by Sirius' declaration of love. He figured that all godfather's were supposed to love their godchildren and he had certainly loved Sirius, but "I love you" was just not something he was used to hearing. In fact, he wasn't sure if anybody had ever said that to him. In a way, he was sad that he and Sirius had never exchanged the words vocally when they had the chance, but on the other hand, he was sure it would have made both of them uncomfortable to say it out loud.

Sirius had spoken so nonchalantly about death that it appeared he wasn't at all afraid of it. Granted, he hadn't had any idea how soon he would die when he wrote the will, but still… Maybe there really wasn't anything to fear. If what Luna had said was true, then he would be able to see Sirius _and _his mum and dad again when he died.

With all the trepidation brought on by knowing that his destiny was to either conquer or be conquered, it was soothing to think that either outcome may not be all that terrible. In this world, he could have the Weasleys, Hermione, Remus, and his other friends. In the other, he could have his parents and godfather. Which did he want more?

As always, it didn't come down to what Harry wanted. It came down to what others _needed._ What the world needed was for him to end Voldemort's existence once and for all. He still didn't know if he could; in fact, he very much doubted it, but he had to try. As long as he was the one with the supposed 'power the Dark Lord knows not', it was his responsibility to give Voldemort hell. His parents, Sirius, and Cedric Diggory deserved no less from him.

When the sun was almost completely hidden from view and the first stars in the east were becoming visible, a soft trill and the click of talons on cement announced Fawkes' arrival. As always, his presence was calming and warm, and Harry couldn't help but smile at him and stroke his bright crimson head. The phoenix scrutinized Harry with his wise, compassionate eyes before getting down to business and holding out a leg with a note attached to it.

_I believe I may have a solution to the problem you spoke of last night._

_This letter is a portkey that will become active at __ten o'clock__ sharp._

_Please be ready; you must be holding it at that exact time as it will _

_only__ activate momentarily._

Harry had been expecting something like this all day. Dumbledore no doubt would be worried about the possibility of him revealing secret information to the enemy in his dreams. He just hoped the headmaster's 'solution' wasn't to obliviate him. In any case, he would probably get the chance to finally test his skill in Occlumency tonight. If he could hold his own against the most powerful wizard alive, then maybe he could finally go to sleep without worrying about his mind being easy prey for Voldemort.

…

**A/N:** I'm beginning to realize that a great deal of this story is taking place inside Harry's head. Sometimes that strikes me as boring, and other times I think it's necessary. When you think about it, though, my only other option to get Harry back in fighting form so that his sixth year can be action-packed and less depressing than OotP, is to somehow get him a psychiatrist for the summer. I can see quite a few problems with that… The point I'm getting at is this: Please bear with me. I promise there WILL be action in this story, but not until the right time. I won't sacrifice the plot and characters for cheap thrills.

****


	12. Bigger than My Body

**Disclaimer:**  Obviously, I didn't write the Harry Potter series.  J.K. Rowling is responsible for those masterpieces, and I will always worship her for it.  Please don't sue me.  I'm already poor and all you'd get from me is a fifteen year-old TV, a futon and some clothes that fit me better than you.  The only way you would get my computer is by prying it from my cold, dead fingers.****

**A/N: **Okay, I think I just barely met my ten day mark. I understand if anybody feels like ranting about the delay, though.

**Numba1—**I'm glad you've taken an interest in my story. Yes, I agree that there could be some major problems between Harry and Dumbledore in (the real) book six if they don't sort things out. I hate it in fanfiction when Harry either immediately forgives Dumbledore and goes back to trusting him completely or else absolutely loathes and disrespects him. Oh—and I'll remember to make Vernon puce for you next time.

**Tansy1354**—Best chapter yet? Thanks! I got mixed reviews on it, so I'm surprised (but happy!) that you liked it so much. I worked really hard on the will—trying not to make Sirius suddenly sound like a saint, yet still show how much he cared for Harry. Petunia's comments will sort of come into play at the end of the story, but I don't think I'll write from her point of view again. Don't worry; I won't compromise the emotional aspect of the story. It's often the most fun part to write for me!

**LunaLovegood61—**Don't worry; it made sense to me. I'm glad you liked that line—it just kind of popped into my head.

**Wiccan**** PussyKat—**Thanks for the sympathy; Grandma's fighting hard and doing as well as can be expected. You can badger me for updates if you like. It makes me work a little harder sometimes; other times, when I'm feeling especially lazy, I just shrug and ignore it. Oooh! What flavor popsicle do I get? (Crossing fingers and thinking "Strawberry! Strawberry! Strawberry!") Ack, it's late…it's always late when I update…Where was I…You pretty much got the gist of what I was trying to say about Lily and Petunia's relationship. Petunia liked being looked up to and admired, and couldn't take it when Lily found a place she felt she belonged in and didn't need to trail along after her anymore. As for Dudley, I haven't a clue. I find it hard to care as he has always been so cruel to Harry. I'd guess he probably endured memories of being teased about his weight or looks (or non-existent brains) or something at school. Can't imagine he has worse memories than that—that would imply he is actually a sentient creature of some sort, and I don't' know if I could believe that. Seriously, though, I hope J.K. reveals that answer in book 6. Sleep deprivation certainly is torture. I woke up this morning at six a.m. because it was so horribly hot and muggy and just couldn't get back to sleep. Glad you liked the will, I worked really hard on it to make it in-character. Hope you enjoy this chapter; pain and torture coming soon! (At this point, I probably sound like the girl who cried wolf saying that.)

**Ootp****-rules—**It's okay, I'm not easily insulted. I appreciate honesty and getting a different perspective on what I write. I am extremely flattered that you check for updates so often! It makes me feel very guilty for not updating faster, though! I understand what you're saying about Petunia's ponderings being out of place. True, it probably won't be important to the plot, but it's what got me back into writing this chapter. I was feeling kind of bored with writing everything from Harry's P.O.V. Hmm…perhaps not a good enough excuse…Oh yes, and it wasn't supposed to make you feel sorry for Petunia AT ALL. I was actually trying to make her seem even worse, I think. Thanks for the compliments on the will, once again I am very flattered! Good news is that this chapter is longer than the last, but the bad news is that the end kind of just tapers off…let me know what you think—I value constructive criticism.

**Thesteffis****—**The will did sound kind of fatalist; I thought about that too, but decided not to change it in the end because I think Sirius may have suspected he wouldn't be around too long. Actually, I think a lot of people in wartime accept the fact that they may not live much longer, and Sirius especially would feel that way, what with the depression of being a fugitive and locked away, unable to help. Just my opinion, though. I'd be grateful to have you as a beta, but I think I'll hold off till the sequel. It won't be long as there aren't many chapters of this story left.

**Mooncinder****, Siriuslyfun19212, heala, Kjkit, jbfritz, TheSilverLady, gaul1, BookWorm (**thanks! I'm glad you enjoy the progression)**, Kerfuffle **(thanks for reading! Yes, cheap thrills can be good sometimes, but I'm trying to keep away from them in this story), **solar1,** thanks for reading!

**Chapter 12:  Bigger Than My Body**

Harry fiddled with his wand nervously and tried to come up with a calming thought.  _Whatever made me think I was ready to try my meager abilities in Occlumency against the most powerful wizard in the world?_  Dumbledore waited patiently for his permission, looking a little unsettled himself.  _What does he have to be worried about? _Harry thought peevishly.  As if sensing his temper, Fawkes let out a long, soothing warble from his perch by the headmaster's desk. 

The sound was like a wakeup call.  Dumbledore didn't have to clear time in his exhausting schedule to help him deal with his problems; he could have easily handed the job back over to Snape.  He ought to be thankful the headmaster was willing to help him personally rather than leaving him at the mercy of that sadistic git again.  Harry silently scolded himself for his ungrateful attitude and smiled thankfully at Fawkes.

Keeping the phoenix's comforting song in the back of his mind, he began preparing for the Legilimency attack.  He stopped fidgeting, wiped his sweaty palms on his too-large pants, and closed his eyes.  Thoughts of Dumbledore and Snape, memories of Fawkes and fighting the basilisk in Slytherin's secret chamber, and perceptions of Dumbledore's office all flurried noisily around in his head.  As he had now gotten used to, Harry switched the focus of his concentration onto his breathing.  After a few deep breaths, he felt clear-headed and ready to go.

Rather than open his eyes and allow the chaotic flow of memories associated with Dumbledore and his office to invade his mind again, Harry squeezed his eyes shut even tighter and nodded in the headmaster's direction.  "Ready," he said, with more confidence than he felt.  Harry waited in suspense until he finally heard Dumbledore's answer of "Legilimens," in a voice scarcely above a whisper. 

He had been expecting a tidal wave of memories to come crashing into him as they had with Snape, but what happened was more like a ripple.  _He was seeing Hogwarts for the first time, glowing with candlelight and emanating a feeling of warmth and welcome of the likes he had never felt before._  The memory was expertly replaced with an image of a perfect slice of French toast, lightly dusted with cinnamon and powdered sugar and garnished with a few plump raspberries.  A moment later, his mind was blank again.

Harry's eyes fluttered open again, and he looked questioningly at his headmaster.  "What was that?" he demanded in annoyance.  "You reckon Voldemort is going to pick my brain to learn my top-secret first impressions of Hogwarts?"

Dumbledore looked like the proverbial kid with his hand caught in the cookie jar.  "I gather you would like more of a challenge?" he asked, although it came out as more of a statement. 

Harry wondered why he sounded so reluctant.  "Well, yes.  I need to be able to protect myself and what I know from Voldemort, so you may as well do your worst," he answered, hoping he wasn't asking for more than he could handle. 

The headmaster nodded, looking resigned to his task.  It suddenly dawned on Harry that he must not want to see the bad memories.  A sense of gratitude for Dumbledore blossomed in him for the first time since the end of fifth year.  All that talk about caring about Harry's happiness and well-being hadn't been complete rubbish, and it proved the prophecy obviously wasn't the man's sole motive for watching out for him.  Before he could continue the thought, however, Dumbledore spoke the incantation for the curse again.

_Aunt Petunia's sharp, manicured nails were digging into his arm as she dragged him, kicking and crying, to his cupboard and threw him in, locking him up in the dark.  _Harry quickly deflected the thought and ended the curse again, as quickly as the first memory.  He recalled that as the time he had been locked up for three straight days when he was five for supposedly stepping on and killing Dudley's new pet hamster.  Actually, Dudley had killed his poor birthday present by dropping it into the living room from the top of the stairs to see if it could survive the fall.  At the time, Harry couldn't understand why his aunt didn't believe him, as his cousin's wailing was obviously fake and he had never liked the hamster anyway.  It would be several more years before he learned the meaning of the word hate, or understood that the Dursleys really meant it when they said he should have died in the car crash with his parents.

Dumbledore was staring past him with his wand still raised.  His eyes were hollow and unfocused as he weakly said, "Excellent job, Harry."

There was a moment of silence and Harry wondered if his headmaster would ask him about the memory.  The aged wizard did not make a sound, though.  He appeared to be in another world entirely, and a pained expression had settled onto his wrinkled face.  "Sir, are you alright?"

Light blue eyes met deep green briefly before darting away again.  "Yes, splendid, thank you.  Are we ready to move on, then?"

"Actually sir, I was hoping to try one more thing," Harry pressed.

The headmaster folded his hands and bowed his head.

"I need you to try a memory of Sirius.  To see if I can block him—er, _it_ out," he blurted, staring fixedly at a crack in the stone floor.

Dumbledore looked as if he had been expecting—and perhaps dreading—the request.  "Remember, you do not have to put yourself through this yet.  Occlumency is a very difficult skill, and it takes some wizards years to master.  Still more wizards do not possess the will power to advance past the weakest levels of it.  While I believe that you could certainly become a very strong Occlumens given enough time, you can hardly expect yourself to learn it in several weeks.  I asked you here tonight to tell you about an alternative way of dealing with the dreams—"

"But it _only_ works for the dreams, right?" Harry interrupted.  "Please.  I need to do this; what if Voldemort tries to possess me again, and I can't stop him in time?  I'll try your new idea, but I need to know Occlumency too.  After all, what makes it any less important now than it was just a few months ago?"

Defeated, the headmaster slumped back in his chair and raised his wand again.  Harry took a few seconds to clear his mind, then nodded fiercely and waited for the onslaught. 

_He and Sirius were laughing together at the near-miss of the knife that was imbedded in the table right next to Sirius' hand after Fred and George's attempt to set the table using magic.  _Harry tried to clear his mind, but his want to see more slowed him down.  _Sirius disguised as Snuffles, up on hind legs at the train station, trying to hug him in dog form.  _He couldn't quite manage to bring up his anchor-thought, still feeling too drawn to the memories._  Sirius' face floated in the Gryffindor common room's fire place…Sirius laughing while battling Bellatrix Lestrange..._It was like trying to summon his Patronus in his first lesson with Remus—the memories were flooding his consciousness too rapidly to control._  Sirius was falling through the archway…Remus was holding him back… "There's nothing you can do, Harry…_He couldn't remember how to fight back at this point, and his breathing was coming in short pants as he relived the battle in the Department of Mysteries.  _He was chasing Bellatrix through the Ministry of Magic… "Aaaaah…did you _love _him, little baby Potter?"_

Somehow, through his muddled mind Harry knew what was coming next.  A bit of the haze cleared as the fear of Dumbledore bearing witness to the upcoming memory replaced it.  Despite his recent fallout with the headmaster, he still respected the man enough to not want to have to see the disappointment in his eyes once he saw what Harry was capable of.  He didn't want Dumbledore to see him in his moment of terrible weakness, trying to cast a dark curse that he _knew_ caused pain too unbearable to describe…even if it _was_ Sirius' murderess he had aimed it at.

The pain from his palms and knees slamming into the floor jolted him fully into awareness.  He was hyperventilating, gasping desperately for breath.  The room was blurry, which could have been a result of his glasses having fallen off or the tears still accumulating in his eyes.  He scrabbled blindly on the ground and located his glasses a few feet away.  When he finished wiping his eyes with the sleeve of his T-shirt and replaced his glasses, he found Dumbledore kneeling in front of him.  One frail hand returned his dropped wand while the other rested comfortingly on his shoulder.  Harry averted his eyes in embarrassment, but did not move away.

"You have nothing to be ashamed of.  Give yourself more time to grieve and come to terms with your loss," Dumbledore advised.

"I don't have more time," Harry responded shakily.  "It was luck that kept Voldemort from hearing the rest of the prophecy in my dream, and my luck's bound to run out soon."

Dumbledore stood and helped pull Harry back to his feet.  Straightening his clothes and glasses, he locked eyes with the headmaster.  "Give me one more try."  Dumbledore looked like he was about to argue, but Harry cut him off.  "If I can't do it this time, I swear I'll leave it for now."

Ice blue eyes regarded him with worry and indecision.  "Once more, then," he decided.  He gave Harry a few seconds to prepare, then spoke the incantation for the last time.

_Dream-Sirius was crushing his throat and demanding to be told the prophecy.  _Harry reminded himself that it wasn't really Sirius, and forced his breath to flow in and out in a calm, steady rhythm.  Recalling his godfather's own words from the will helped discredit the monster from his nightmare.  _He was entering Dumbledore's office after the Third Task, and Sirius was rushing up to him, worried and relieved …An emaciated Sirius in his Azkaban rags climbed onto Buckbeak—"You are—truly your father's son, Harry…"  _Let it go…_ "Although I did not show it well, know that I did love you…"  _Enough.  He let the thoughts go, and the familiar French toast flickered back in place. 

Seconds later, Harry had thrown off the attack altogether.  Panting slightly but feeling strangely serene, he glanced up to see Dumbledore's eyes twinkling and lips turned up into a small, proud smile.   

….

The headmaster's new plan to prevent Voldemort from gathering valuable information from Harry in his sleep turned out to be both clever and simple.  He explained the spell as being somewhat similar to a portkey, except rather than transporting a person's body, it transported them back to consciousness.  The trigger to the sort of mental-portkey was set to react to programmed words or phrases.

"Prophecy", "Order", "headquarters", and other words that could reveal anything of importance Harry knew were set to wake him up if spoken to him in his dreams.  Worried that Voldemort may continue to use his godfather's image to torture him, he suggested that "Sirius" also be added to the word list.   Dumbledore, however, struck the idea down immediately.

"We must be careful not to abuse magic where it concerns dreams.  Although we may not have a thorough understanding of it, dreaming is theoretically a key tool the mind uses to sort out internal conflicts and feelings.  Certain people play important parts in our lives, and occasionally the mind finds it necessary to let them play a part in our dreams as well.  It is a part of being human, and the body's natural way of dealing with our vast range of emotions.  Indeed, tampering with dreams has proven dangerous in the past.  Do you know why Dreamless Sleep potion must not be taken for more than two consecutive days?"

Harry shook his head.

"When the potion was first patented nearly a century ago, a wizard who suffered nightmares from his horrifying experiences in the war against Grindewald began taking it every night.  Not even a week had passed before his friends and family started noticing frightening changes in his personality.  After seventeen days on the potion, he had to be admitted to St. Mungo's where the healers pronounced him incurably insane.  A few similar cases presented themselves and finally it was discovered their disturbance was caused by the restricting of their minds by the Dreamless Sleep potion.  Unfortunately, the findings were too late to save the poor souls already affected."

It was almost enough to turn Harry off of Dreamless Sleep potion for life.  Come to think of it, the potion hadn't been preventing the dreams about Voldemort anyway…

"I forgot to mention, sir—I had taken Dreamless Sleep potion both of the nights I dreamed about Voldemort.  Why didn't it work?"

The headmaster's eyes narrowed in thought.  "You know, I'm not quite sure."  He tugged lightly on his wiry beard.  "All I can give you is an idea.  Do you remember the conversation we had in your second year after you returned from the Chamber of Secrets?"

Harry arched an eyebrow.  "It's a bit hard to forget hearing that the reason you have unusual traits and abilities is because you sapped power from a Dark Lord as a baby."

Blue eyes twinkled with humor before sobering up again.  "Yes, I suppose it is.  If I were to guess why the potion did not work on those particular dreams, I would once again blame the connection you have to Tom Riddle through your scar."

"If we _share_ this connection, why is it that it seems to affect me so much more than him?"

"Once again, I cannot be certain.  Your case is very unique; since no other person has ever survived the killing curse, I have nothing to compare it to.  It could be that the caster has more control over the connection that was forged that night, or it could be that Mr. Riddle is simply more knowledgable in such areas.  There is no way to know for sure."  With that, he went back to casting the charms.

Dumbledore finished with "cieo statim Grimmauld" and slid his wand back into the deep purple folds of his luxurious robes.  He assured Harry that the trigger-words were all in place now, and he would no longer have to worry about accidentally exposing the Order of the Phoenix to Voldemort.

"Occlumency should provide you ample protection most of the time, but as you have learned, it is a skill that often depends on your emotional state.  Even the most powerful wizard can find himself overwhelmed sometimes.  The cieo statim charms will serve as a back-up measure should Occlumency fail you."

The reassurance that for once it wasn't all left up to him released a lot of the stress that had been weighing him down for days.  Unfortunately, along with the tension in his muscles, his caffeine high was fading as well.  He longed for his lumpy, small, tattered bed at the Dursleys', and lost the fight to restrain a yawn.

A sympathetic smile graced Dumbledore's face.  "I do believe it is much past your bedtime, dear boy.  If you will pass me the portkey that brought you here, I can reprogram it to take you home."

With a flick of his wand and a quickly muttered incantation, the portkey was reset to return him to his bedroom in five minutes. 

As he waited, Harry had time to survey the old wizard's mysterious office.  Although still missing most of the fragile, spindly items he had destroyed at the end of term, the room was far from bare.  The many, different-sized portraits on the walls didn't need any help to make the office look cluttered.  Several plush, but mismatched armchairs had been added—probably to accommodate visiting Order members or Ministry officials.  Harry felt quite guilty when he spotted an empty space on a tabletop where an object he had ruined once sat.  Apparently magic couldn't fix everything.  He had already asked the headmaster when he first arrived if he could replace the items or reimburse him, but had been met with a flat-out refusal.

With two minutes to go before the portkey activated, Dumbledore broke the silence.  "I can't tell you how proud I am of the progress you have made this summer.  You have shown amazing dedication to your studies in the past few weeks to have strengthened your Occlumency skills so much.  Do tell; which of Professor Snape's books did you learn from?"

Just the mention of _that_ name made Harry's teeth grind.  How _did _Dumbledore still manage to maintain the delusion that Snape would actually _try_ to help him accomplish anything?  "Until this summer, I wasn't aware there _were _books on Occlumency, Professor.  _Snape's_only advice of 'clear your mind' wasn't taking me very far, so I decided to take a new approach.  The book I learned from was sent to me by Hermione."

It was probably childish, but he felt an irrational satisfaction watching the headmaster's jaw slacken.  A tug at his navel signaled the activation of the portkey, and the last thing he saw as he was sucked out of the office was the surprised and displeased look on Dumbledore's face.  He landed facedown in his bed several moments later, grinning and hoping beyond hope that Snape would finally get his due.  Judging by the headmaster's reaction to his admission, maybe he should be feeling sorry for the poor git…but Harry was simply too tired to spare any sympathy for the cruel professor.

…

_Harry was approaching a deadlocked iron door in a dark hallway._  _When he reached it, it unlocked on its own accord and swung open with a clang.  Inside was a courtroom, the same courtroom his hearing had been in last summer.  _

_He nervously made his way to the uncomfortable chair with the dangling chains as he had for his previous questioning, but as he got near, saw that it was already occupied.  A warm hand fell lightly onto his back and directed him to the bench where the Wizengamot was seated.  He took a seat between Madam Bones and Dumbledore, but as he was about to ask what was going on, Cornelius Fudge stood up to make an announcement.  _

_"This is the disciplinary hearing of one Professor Severus Snivellus Snape."_

_This drew Harry's attention to the middle of the room, where the Potions professor was indeed seated and shackled.  _Wow!  Is Snivellus really part of his name?  _The man's hair was as greasy as ever, and he was sneering and scowling at every wizard in the Wizengamot, one after the other.  When his eyes rested on Harry, the scowl deepened.  Snape opened his mouth to let loose some insult, but instead of words, red and gold bubbles poured out and floated off into the musty air.  His jaw closed again, but his face turned beet red with rage._

_Fudge continued the interrogation unfazed.  "Mr. Snape:  You have been accused of being an insufferable, lying, pitiless, prejudiced, cruel, self-loving, unbearable git.  What have you to say in your defense?"_

_Chin held high in self-righteous defiance, the greasy-haired man replied, "Your claims are ridiculous.  How do you expect to prove these baseless accusations?"_

_Looking affronted, Fudge puffed out his unimpressive chest and pointed across the room to a crowd of people standing in the shadows.  "Why, we have at least three hundred witnesses eager to testify against you!"_

_Harry gleefully looked on to where an antsy Neville Longbottom stepped out of the darkness.  "He's always making fun of me in front of the entire class and taking points off Gryffindor for no reason!"_

_From behind Neville stepped a figure with bushy brown hair, which Harry recognized immediately to be Hermione.  "Professor Snape gives his own house special treatment and belittles the other students.  He even goes so far as to sabotage the class work of certain students just so he can give them bad grades!" she said, with a pointed look at Harry._

_Next came a semi-translucent, pale figure with scraggly hair and shabby gray robes.  It was Sirius Black.  "Snivellus is an unbearable, grudge-holding prat who never learned the meaning of 'pick on someone your own size'," he stated, giving the prat in question a cocky grin._

_Harry snickered, and made to stand up to give his own testimony.  Unfortunately, Dumbledore tugged his sleeve and pulled him back to the bench before he could._

_A thin, cloaked figure emerged next.  Beneath the hood, all that was visible was a pair of piercing crimson eyes.  "Snape is a backstabbing spy who is not to be trusted!" it announced in a strange, high-pitched voice.  _ 

_Several more people made their complaints, and finally Ron Weasley stepped up._

_"He's an awful bleeding git—what more proof do you need?"_

_Fudge stood to speak again.  "Well, there you have it.  Raise your hand if you believe Severus Snivellus Snape to be guilty of the aforementioned crime."_

_Every wizard and witch in the Wizengamot raised their hands.  As he was seated with the Wizengamot, Harry figured he was supposed to vote too.  He enthusiastically raised both his hands._

_Surveying the row, Fudge smiled happily.  "My, my!  That is a first!  It would appear that there is one hundred percent agreement!  Mr. Snape, you are hereby sentenced to be transformed into a house elf upon your return to Hogwarts.  There you will reside peacefully to serve the Gryffindor, Ravenclaw, and Hufflepuff houses for the next thirty years, after which you will be up for parole.  Off with you now, and be on your best behavior!"_

…

**A/N:  **This chapter has been changed since it was first updated.  Those who had read it previously will notice that the last part has been cut out.  I decided I didn't like ending it there and used the last bit as the beginning of chapter 13 instead.  I apologize for any confusion this caused.


	13. Karma

**Disclaimer:** Obviously, I didn't write the Harry Potter series. J.K. Rowling is responsible for those masterpieces, and I will always worship her for it. Please don't sue me. I'm already poor and all you'd get from me is a fifteen year-old TV, a futon and some clothes that fit me better than you. The only way you would get my computer is by prying it from my cold, dead fingers.****

**A/N: **Sorry if I'm confusing anybody, but I wasn't very satisfied with my update yesterday (at all). I rearranged a few things, wrote a little more, and turned it into a new, if shorter, chapter. If you already read chapter 12, I put a big space at the part where the new material that you haven't read begins. (Hope you understood that…) Anyway, sorry for the inconvenience. I have a reason for doing this, however, so you'll just have to trust me.

Thanks to everybody that reviewed already:

**Ootp****-rules—**Wow! A long review! Oh, if you knew how I cherish those…Okay, first off: Thanks for all the wonderful compliments and advice. Your suggestions on naming spells and blending Latin and English will be very helpful, especially in upcoming chapters. Also, what you said about the language use was eye-opening for me. I never really thought about how much Harry's insecurity is reflected in his speech, but looking back at the books (and your review) I see that now. I'll also have to remember to use "suppose" rather than "guess". It does sound more eloquent and more British. It's funny; some people tell me I'm a pretty decent writer—if only they could hear how I _speak_ everyday…most of the time I don't even use proper grammar. Anyway, congratulations on completing your finals! I know that feeling; lucky for me, mine were over at the beginning of May. I still shiver when I think back on them, though. Also, like I said in the author's note above, this chapter is really my attempt to even out and correct the ending to chapter 12 than a whole new chapter, so don't get too excited. Just wanted to warn you. The new part that you haven't read is really only about 2,000 words long. Thanks again for your help!

**Heala****—**Since I'm similar to J.K. Rowling in that I don't like to give straight answers concerning my story, all I will say is you may have a special treat very soon. Thanks for reading!

**DeathWynd****—**I'm going to go out on a limb here and hope that I don't lose readers for what I'm about to say, but…(leaning over to whisper discreetly in your ear)…I feel the exact same way as you about dear Professor Snape. I can't stand the greasy git; I think he's an immature, cruel old Scrooge. However, I try not to abuse my power as an author by making all the characters feel the same way I do.

**Huskerinexile****—**Glad you like the story. As for Heather, she may have first been drawn to Harry because of his "bad boy" image, but she got to know him better after the time they spent together. It's understandable that she hasn't grown on you; she is a very strange girl, after all, and I don't know that I've given you reason enough to like her yet. Tom will definitely be back, as will the French toast, even though it makes me hungry to write those scenes…

**LunaLovegood****—**Hopefully _I _will learn some Latin too! The dream was _very_ fun to write; glad you enjoyed it!

**Elizabeth Goode—**Thank you and I hope you continue to enjoy it!

**Jbfritz****—**Thanks; will do!

**Melrick****—**Sounds like you and I do our searches the same way. I'm usually not a fan of romance fics (when it is centered around the romance), but I do enjoy a fic with a good plot and a side of romance. That's actually what I have planned for the sequel to this one that will take place in the school year. Unfortunately, I don't think I should say what the pairing will be yet—don't want to give away the secret! Generally, I like H/Hr, H/OC, and H/G, but only when they are done very well. Otherwise, I'd rather just avoid romance altogether.

Okay, that's all for now. If you are very upset with my changing the chapters around, I apologize and you can berate me in a review!

**Chapter 13: Karma**

A sharp peck on his earlobe roused Harry from the best dream he could remember having in a long while. He groaned and glanced at his alarm clock, reading 12:31 p.m. After staying up for over thirty hours straight learning Occlumency, he decided he deserved to sleep late. He buried his head back into the pillow and willed himself to go back to sleep and continue his wonderful dream. Hedwig seemed to disagree with his plan; she was flapping noisily around the room, hooting her annoyance and trying her best to keep him awake.

"Wha' d' you want?" he moaned, not even opening his eyes.

Then he heard the clang of something bouncing off his window pane. "Harry!" came a loud whisper from outside.

"Go 'way," he mumbled ineffectively.

More pebbles bounced off the window. "Harry, you prat! Wake up and get out here!" the voice said, in a quiet sort of laugh.

"Gaah, WHY?" Harry whined, stumbling lazily out of bed and to the window. Squinting in the light streaming through it, he looked down and saw Heather smiling broadly at him.

"Nice pajamas!" she joked, giggling.

"I'll be down in a minute," he answered, ignoring the jibe.

Another new outfit had mysteriously appeared at his bedroom door at some point the day before, and Harry gratefully tugged it on. Heather always seemed to be wearing the latest styles, and he always felt like a slob wearing Dudley's gigantic hand-me-downs in her presence. The clothes Aunt Petunia had been leaving for him were bland and far from 'cool', but they fit and bore no holes so Harry wasn't about to complain.

When he came downstairs, his aunt was in the kitchen, peering through the curtains and sneering nastily at something—most likely Heather. She jumped back and pretended to be scrubbing the counter when he stomped loudly to the front door.

"'Bout time, your aunt was beginning to freak me out a bit," Heather said when he joined her in the yard.

"I've lived with her for fifteen years and she still manages to freak me out from time to time," he replied.

On the way to her house, Heather badgered him about not coming by to see her the day before. When he 'explained' that the Dursleys had grounded him for not doing his chores, however, she was sympathetic and went off on a tangent about the various reasons she had been grounded for in the past.

"…then there was the time I snuck out to get that tattoo when I told Mum I was over at my friend Anne's house. Would've gotten away with it too, but my mum called her mum and her mum threatened to take away the phone in her room if she didn't tell my mum where I went—to make a long story slightly less long, it ends with Mum barging into the tattoo parlor screaming bloody murder and dragging me out by my hair," she paused a moment with a nostalgic look on her face. "And to think the needle was hovering just a centimeter from my arm…I nearly got away with it."

Not quite understanding why she would want to be poked repeatedly in the arm with a very sharp object just to have a picture painted permanently on her skin, Harry did as he often found himself forced to do when around Heather—played along.

"That's…too bad. What kind of tattoo were you going to get?"

She sighed. "A butterfly. Actually, I'm kind of glad I didn't now; it seems like every girl I meet has a butterfly tattoo."

"Yeah, I guess so," he replied blankly. He really didn't know any girls—or boys, for that matter—with any tattoos at all. _Maybe they're only popular in muggle culture._

"Well, anyway, I also got grounded not too long ago for taking my Dad's car out for a drive after midnight when he told me not to. Wait, that was only last week…Come to think of it, I think I'm still supposed to be grounded," she mused, tapping her chin.

…

It was such a beautiful, sunny day that they spent the entire afternoon outside. Mrs. Gaines brought them sandwiches and lemonade for lunch, smiling gloriously at Harry and patting his head as she walked past. The Gaines' had a small swimming pool, and Heather forced him to borrow swimming trunks and take a dip with her. At first he had been very self-conscious, but had to give in as the temperature was ninety-five degrees and the sparkling pool looked so inviting. He was a little disturbed to find that the trunks belonged to Justin and decided not to ask why she had them at her house. Maybe he could ask Justin himself in September, though…

Harry was happy to spend the day at Heather's house. She was a little spacy and very girlish, but she had her moments. Heather didn't judge him by his neighborhood reputation, or treat him like some sort of boy-hero, or push him to talk about things he didn't want to. She was simply happy for the company, and so was he. They passed the time talking about their friends, family, jokes they heard, muggle movies (most of which Harry hadn't even heard of)—everything and nothing. The hours Harry spent with Heather were hours that he wasn't reminded of Voldemort, his responsibilities and expectations, or all that he had lost or might lose in his life.

The evening was only fractionally cooler than the weather had been earlier in the day. Still wearing only their swimsuits, the two laid facing each other on the large hammock in the backyard watching the setting sun. For once, Heather seemed to have run out of things to say.

They could hear Mr. and Mrs. Gaines arguing about something in the kitchen. After awhile, Harry realized they were talking about him—Mr. Gaines suspiciously questioning his intentions with his daughter, and Mrs. Gaines defending his honor. Just when it seemed Mrs. Gaines had gotten the upper hand, her father's gruff voice called out from the house for Heather to come inside before it got dark.

Heather rolled her eyes and was about to shout back, but Harry signaled for her to drop it. "Probably time I headed back anyway," he said.

He tugged his t-shirt back over his head, but didn't change out of the swimming trunks as Heather told him he could keep them until Justin noticed they were missing. The only thing she asked in return was that he come back to swim the next day. Mrs. Gaines gave him another sweet smile and tried to talk him into staying for tea and a snack, which he politely turned down seven times before she let him leave the house.

Remus caught him on his way back to the Dursleys' and gave him the update on wizarding world news. There were still no attacks on wizards, although suspected muggle casualties were growing. Several more families in and around Surrey had been attacked, and the Order was becoming more concerned about the Death Eaters patrolling the edges of the wards on Privet Drive.

"Everyone who guards you now carries an emergency portkey," Remus explained. "Now don't take this the wrong way, because Dumbledore assures us that you are still perfectly safe, but it Voldemort somehow finds a way through the wards, we'll be able to get you out in a flash."

"What about all the other people that live here? Who's going to help them?" Harry asked.

"They'll have the Order and Aurors apparating all over the place to capture the Death Eaters. Keep in mind that Voldemort is the one to blame for all the killing, Harry. It's not your fault he's targeted you, and we all know you'd do anything to keep others from getting hurt because of it. That does not, however, give you an excuse for not _immediately_ using a portkey to get the hell out of here if something does happen."

Harry didn't respond. If the wards fell, he probably wouldn't have a choice anyway. Either Voldemort would get him first or his guard du jour would portkey him to Grimmauld Place quicker than you could say "Mosmordre".

"The chances of anyone breaking through Dumbledore's wards are extremely slim. Besides, there are only a few more weeks before you come to stay with me, anyway. Oh, speaking of which, what color would you like your room to be?"

Harry grinned. "Do you really have to ask?"

"Right then, Gryffindor colors."

They chatted amiably about summer plans and the house all the way back to the Dursleys. Remus told him that he would be working on finishing up the house for the next few weeks and would not be guarding him again until the last week of June, so Tonks would be picking up a lot of his shifts. Before bidding him farewell, Remus gave him a fond look and an awkward pat on the back.

"See you in a few weeks, Harry. Don't give Tonks too much trouble."

"Don't worry, I will," he answered.

…

…

…

…

When Harry set foot back in Number Four, he found the house in mayhem. Uncle Vernon's face was a brilliant shade of puce as he shouted and spat into the phone, Aunt Petunia was bawling and pacing next to him, and Hedwig was hooting loudly upstairs. He supposed the best plan of action was to tiptoe up the stairs and eavesdrop unnoticed.

"MY SON WOULD NOT ATTACK ANOTHER BOY WITHOUT A GOOD REASON, ESPECIALLY ONE YOUNGER THAN HIM!" Vernon bellowed furiously.

He could hear his aunt pause between sobs to whisper suggestions to her husband. "Tell them that Dudders is a student at Smeltings. Oh, oh, and don't forget to let them know that he's also the Junior Heavyweight Inter-School Boxing Champion of the Southeast!"

"Yes, dear," Vernon stressed with aggravation before repeating everything she said into the phone

"WHAT DO YOU MEAN BY THAT, _SIR_? OF COURSE IT MAKES A DIFFERENCE—IT SHOWS THAT MY SON IS A DECENT YOUNG MAN. THE ONE YOU SHOULD BE HOLDING IS THE LITTLE WHELP WHO'S TRYING TO FRAME HIM!"

Petunia let loose another wail.

"NO, I WILL NOT STOP SHOUTING! NOT UNTIL YOU RELEASE MY SON AND GIVE ME THE NAME OF THIS SUPPOSED _VICTIM _SO I CAN HAVE A GOOD TALK WITH HIS PARENTS. PERSONALLY, _I _THINK YOU SHOULD LOOK INTO THE BOY'S HOME SITUATION," he lowered his voice and was apparently speaking to Petunia on the side, "The boy's parents are probably unemployed, no-good drug addicts, and the child's just looking for attention."

Mumbling her agreement, Aunt Petunia sniffled and blew her nose noisily.

"Yes, fine," Vernon growled, finally showing a bit of self-control. "My wife and I will be there as soon as possible," he growled, slamming the phone down.

"Wh—what did they say?" Petunia asked weakly.

Harry could hear keys jangling and pounding footsteps moving across the kitchen. "We have to go to the station to sort this out," his uncle replied gruffly. The footsteps stopped and a heavy sigh was heaved. "Don't fret, dear, Dudders is a strong, intelligent young man. He'll be just fine." Harry had to bite down on his knuckle to stifle his snickers. _Dudley__? Intelligent? Honestly, how thick could they be?_

"I just don't understand!" Petunia cried in the midst of a fresh wave of sobs. "Our Duddiekins is a _good boy_. How could they do this to him?"

As the pair shuffled morosely out the door, Harry pinched his arm. _Ouch. Definitely not dreaming._ The front door clicked shut, and he waited for the engine to start before jumping to his feet and doing a victory dance. Between Snape and Dudley, karma was certainly making its rounds today.

A few sharp hoots and the sound of something crashing to the ground jerked him back to reality. Throwing open the door to his room, he saw Hedwig flapping around irately. Surveying the room, he saw why. In the window sat one of the most magnificent birds Harry had ever seen, watching him with a calm curiosity. Clutched in its talons was a thick roll of parchment.

Harry approached it slowly; the bird looked like some kind of falcon, and he had no clue who it belonged to. The colors of its glossy feathers ranged from soft grays to rich browns to shiny black. Its eyes were a piercing gold, lending it an unnaturally intelligent look for a bird. In fact, despite differences in size and coloring, its demeanor reminded him a lot of Fawkes.

The falcon held out the parchment as he got close, and he reached for it cautiously.

"Er…thanks," Harry said. The falcon cocked its head to the side inquisitively. When he finished unrolling the parchment, the beautiful bird hunched down, brought its strong, broad wings over its head, and sailed swiftly away into the night sky.

_Dear Harry,_

_Hopefully this isn't the first letter you've gotten from me this summer. If you have no clue what I'm going on about, open your Occlumency book! Sorry, I don't mean to sound harsh, it's just that I'm so worried about you. The last thing I wanted to do this summer was be so far from home that I couldn't even owl you and Ron regularly, but the Order suggested it would be safer if my parents and I left the country for a bit while they improve the wards around our house. _

_At the moment, I am at an owlery in the wizarding sector of __Hong Kong__. It's quite fascinating; the term owlery just doesn't do it justice. There are all sorts of birds here. The one that delivered this letter is called a Gryfalcon. They are somewhat rare in __Asia__, but are well-suited for delivering letters over long distances because of their speed and endurance. _

_China__ is simply amazing. So far, it is the only part of the world I've seen where the wizards are more colorful than the muggles. They wear the most vibrant robes with various figures and magical creatures embroidered on them. I did see a spectacular muggle parade in __Beijing__ last week, though, that could give the wizards a run for their money. There were people wearing the most outrageous costumes and makeup you'll ever see and huge, decorated, floats that looked surprisingly similar to real dragons (if you ignore the whiskers and coloring). _

_Today I saw a martial arts demonstration. You may think I'm slightly nutters for saying this, but I honestly think that these five black belts I watched in the demo could take down a small team of Death Eaters (or any wizards, for that matter) in seconds. Actually, it made me think that maybe we should add some sort of physical element to the D.A. When I count up all the times in the last few years that we've been caught without our wands, it makes me wonder why I didn't think of it sooner. I'm not saying we should forget spells and learn karate instead, but I think we could at least use some basic self-defense training. What do you think? You _are_ still going to continue with the D.A., aren't you?_

_I was delighted to see Professor Lupin before I left, and even happier to hear that you wanted to borrow some books. I can't wait to tell Ron that I've finally turned you! We could really make him squirm by telling him this book-reading craze is contagious…Let me know if you need to borrow more. I hope the ones I lent you are working out, especially the Occlumency one. Remus had to buy that one himself since I didn't already own it. _

_How did your O.W.L. results turn out? I'm so angry; the Ministry is holding my results until I return from vacation. Can you believe they're making me wait another month to find out how I did? I've been trying not to think about it, but I can't help it; I'm so nervous…_

_I have to finish this up; my parents and I are off to see the Great Wall tomorrow, and we still have to find our hotel. There is so much more I wanted to say, but I would rather save it for when we have a chance to speak face-to-face. I know how tired you must be of hearing this, but please be careful! You know how much I worry about my test results, but believe me when I say that it is nothing compared to how much I worry about you. I will be back home July 23, and I hope to see you before King's Cross._

_Love,_

_Hermione_

Harry was glad to hear that Hermione was safe and enjoying herself. He tried to imagine her standing on the Great Wall, or watching a parade, but found that he couldn't. Aside from Privet Drive, Hogwarts, Grimmauld Place, and the wizarding villages, there were very few places he had spent enough time in to remember clearly. Maybe if he lived to graduate, defeat Voldemort, and make a life for himself, he could travel. That was a lot of maybes, but he supposed he'd really like to see more of the world someday.

…

Hedwig was still flustered from the intrusion of the Gryfalcon, but calmed down somewhat after several owl treats and ten minutes of Harry speaking to her softly and stroking her feathers. She cheered up more when he gave her new letters to deliver to Ron, Ginny, Neville, and Luna. He wasn't sure if he'd ever understand why Hedwig so enjoyed having a job to do, but figured it was probably similar to the attitude house elves had toward their work.

Once she had left, Harry debated whether or not to wait up for the Dursleys. He was really interested in hearing what excuses Dudley could come up with for being caught bullying another boy. Unfortunately, he still hadn't caught up on all the sleep he had missed while learning Occlumency, and was already having trouble keeping his eyes open. He just barely remembered to clear his mind and steady his breathing before promptly falling asleep.

…


	14. Boys of Summer

**Disclaimer:**  Obviously, I didn't write the Harry Potter series.  J.K. Rowling is responsible for those masterpieces, and I will always worship her for it.  Please don't sue me.  I'm already poor and all you'd get from me is a fifteen year-old TV, a futon and some clothes that fit me better than you.  The only way you would get my computer is by prying it from my cold, dead fingers.****

**A/N:  **Okay, first:  Thanks, my precious readers, for bearing with me through Chapters 12 and 13 with the confusing rearrangements I did.  Now, I've been getting several reviews asking about the plot, and I suppose it's high time for some clarification.

This is a summer fic, as I don't really need to point out to you, but part of the problem with summers in Harry's world is it is obviously very hard to keep him in the loop.  A lot of the plot is happening outside Harry's sphere of awareness, and I've been having a difficult time feeding little details and hints into the story.  Another problem is that "details and hints" aren't all that exciting for people who really want plot twists and turns.  Sorry; I'm still very new to story writing, and I've been working hard to develop relationships, pull Harry out of his depression, and better prepare him for the future he must face, which has made it even more difficult to maintain an interesting, main plot in this fic.  However, I think it will all work out in the end…which isn't too far off.  I'm going to stop talking about this now, because somehow I'm confusing myself…

To all you well-wishers out there, thank you.  My grandmother is doing alright considering, but the treatment takes a lot out of her.  I'm usually not one to discuss my problems or family matters to anyone, even my friends, but I guess everyone has to vent once and awhile.  You have all been so kind and supportive, though, and I just wanted to take a moment to say thanks.  So, thanks!

Review responses!

**Omagic****:  **Don't worry about not reviewing every single chapter.  I know you're working hard on your story, and I'm happy to trade a review or two for a FoL update.  Thank you for the editing commendation—I've always been kind of obsessive about grammar and spelling, and I try to read through every chapter several times to make sure it flows.  What you (and your reviewer) had to say about plot development was very true; I'm working on it.  As for Occlumency, I hate it when fics have Harry somehow master it immediately.  Obviously, Harry had such a hard time with it in the fifth book because he still had a lot of issues and problems to deal with.  I don't think Occlumency will ever be _easy_ for Harry, but I think he will learn to use it more and more as he begins to sort through all the pain and confusion of his past (not to mention fear for the future).  Did that make sense?  Can't say anything yet about Snape and his status with Voldemort, but I'll tell you I have plans to reveal my take on that later.  And review number three:  the dreaded plot issues again.  I'm working on those twists and turns—if all goes according to plan, chapter 15 should have some.  Perhaps not what you were looking for, but I'm trying!

**Wiccan**** PussyKat:  **I wanted to make Vernon think Harry orchestrated the whole thing, believe me, but in the end there was just no way to work that out.  As for a certain dubious character you mentioned in your review (don't want to give anything away to other readers who haven't guessed), I must say you make me feel very unoriginal when you guess correctly.  Grrr!  If you don't stop, people are going to think I'm stealing YOUR ideas!  Just kidding, I'm not angry—just amused.  Heather…okay, I really don't like OCs either.  Don't know how she ever got into the story…I think she just wrote herself in.  Some people like her, some people hate her, and some don't care.  I basically keep her because Harry needs to be able act normal for a bit.  The outfits were definitely left by Petunia, sorry to disappoint, but she has to do something besides ignore his existence to prove that she is treating him decently, or else she won't get the big payoff in the end.  If you were Dumbledore and you saw Harry looking malnourished and dressed in huge rags, would you pay her?  (even though Harry's already said he'll pay them in the end, but Petunia doesn't know that yet.)  Thanks for correcting me on "nutters".  I try not to sound like a stupid American, but I usually fail miserably ;P  If you have any Britishisms to offer that you think I could use in the future, please, pretty-please let me know.  Thanks for the popsicles!

**Von:  **Stop; you're making me blush!  I love teacher Harry too.  I might just find a way to get him the position/a position.  We'll see.  Kind of harsh on Umbridge, aren't you?  (Yeah right, like anyone could possibly hate the old toad enough.)  I have plans for her and Harry's appeal, but that might be a long wait.  Thanks for reading and reviewing!

**Chipper1:  **I understood both reviews, and was very flattered by them.  Best post-OotP fic?!  Thanks!  There will be a little bit of Ron, Hermy, and Ginny in the summer, and a lot more in the sequel about sixth year (obviously).  Hopefully I can spice things up before the summer gets boring, because I agree with you on the "summer of nothingness" theory.  Hope you enjoy this chapter, and I'm ecstatic to have you reading!

**LunaShadows****:  **The mystery of Duddykins is about to be solved.  The answer to your question, since I'm too tired to complain about people guessing correctly about the storylines, is yes.  Thanks for reading!

**Tansy1354:  **Don't feel bad; lots of people didn't review Chapter 12, which is my fault.  I posted it, then decided to change some things and ended up with two chapters in its place.  Now why is it that people still try to find ways to feel sorry for the Dursleys?  They're mean!  I'm glad you liked the dream—poor Harry really did need his sleep after all that dratted Occlumency.  Thank you for your sensitivity and support—it is greatly appreciated.

**Ootp****-rules:  **Thanks for the wake-up call about the chapter endings.  I had sort of noticed it myself, but hadn't realized just how bad I was getting.  No more ending chapters with sleeping!  (If I can help it!)  Don't worry about martial arts taking over Hogwarts, I'm not going to turn HP into the Matrix or anything.  The point I was trying to get across is that some situations require physical combat as much as magical, and the D.A. might benefit in teaching it a little.  As a student of Tae Kwon Do, I know martial arts can't be mastered in a year, and aren't just about fighting.  Hogwarts students have enough on their plates learning magic; they would never have time to become Karate Kids, or a trainer, for that matter.  Thanks again for your insight—I'm glad to have you reading as your reviews give me good advice.

Thank you for reading and reviewing**: DiggaDigga, Jarvey, gaul1, Juliemarthe, sammy, jbfritz, Siriuslyfun19212, elvin-warrior-princess, Daisy, panuru4u, szer, Kristen, Mooncinder,  and DeathWynd.**

**Chapter 14: Boys of Summer**

Harry took a risk the next morning by eating breakfast with the Dursleys.  They had returned home with Dudley several hours after he had gone to sleep the night before, but he had woken up when Dudley's massive weight shook the house as he stomped upstairs.

So far, breakfast had been an abnormally quiet affair, even with Harry at the table.  He hoped the Dursleys would start talking soon, for he desperately wanted to hear more about his cousin's escapade last night.  Keeping true to the Dursley tradition of always doing the opposite of what Harry wanted, they remained dead silent.  Every once in awhile, though, Dudley would flash an angry look at his parents and a venomous glare at his cousin before bowing his head and going back to the busy chore of stuffing his face.

Still not a word had been uttered by the time he finished his bowl of cereal, or even after he nursed his glass of orange juice for ten minutes more.  His uncle stood up with his briefcase in hand and left for work with no more than a 'goodbye' to his wife and son.  It was obvious that no one in the Dursley household wanted him to know about the incident, so he put away his dishes and walked back upstairs.  When he reached his room, he opened the door, but instead of going in, shut the door and walked back to the top of the stairs.  Sure enough, Dudley began whining the moment he thought Harry was out of hearing range.

"It's not fair!  I didn't do anything wrong!"

"I know, Diddydums.  I'm so sorry this is happening, but it will all be over soon.  That nasty boy is just spreading lies, and they're sure to see that at the hearing next week—"

"THEN WHY CAN'T I GO TO PIERS' HOUSE?" Dudley yelled, as if he was being done a great injustice.

Petunia was weeping loudly again.  "Y-y-you heard…" there was a pause as she blew her nose wetly.  "…The officer s-said you are on (sniffle) h-h-house arrest (sob) until the hearing!" She finished quickly, so as to resume her wailing uninterrupted. 

"IT'S—NOT—FAIR!" Dudley cried, emphasizing each word by throwing a breakfast dish to the floor.  A few shattered, but the sound of his cereal bowl rotating noisily on the floor offset Petunia's sobs for a minute before settling with a thud.

Suddenly, Dudley was pounding up the stairs with more fervor than Harry could ever recall.  A picture frame somewhere downstairs came off its hook from the quaking of the walls and broke.  Harry realized too late that he wouldn't make it back to his room before his cousin reached the top.  Sure enough, he was just turning the knob when a flabby fist grabbed the back of his shirt and shoved him up against the wall.

"Bet you thought that was a barrel of laughs didn't you?" his cousin said furiously.  His face was so tight with anger that his eyes were pinched between the chubby flesh of his cheeks and forehead.

Harry, unlike Dudley, had matured significantly since the years in which he had served as his cousin's punching bag.  He was no longer afraid of him, but he was also not stupid.  Dudley, as oafish and large as he was, could easily knock him out with one good punch as long as he had him cornered.

"Don't know what you're talking about.  I was just coming back from the loo," he replied, trying to look surprised at the assault.

The fist gripping Harry's shirt shook with the force Dudley's fury.  "How daft do you think I am, Potter?" he snarled, bared teeth giving him the appearance of a very angry warthog.

Harry would have liked very much to answer, but figured it was more of a rhetorical question.  Instead, he surreptitiously drew his wand from the pocket of his shorts and lightly tapped his cousin's offending arm.  Dudley jumped back as if electrocuted, fear erasing every trace of rage from his fat face.  Flabby arms struggled to wrap around a bloated torso so his hands could protect his behind.

"Now that's settled, I really must be going.  I've been studying really hard to learn the spell for transforming a normal person into a wizard.  Just about got it down, too.  Would you like to help me practice?" he asked seriously.

"Y-you're lying," Dudley said uncertainly.  "There's no way to turn people into freaks like you."

Harry smiled and tilted his head sympathetically.  "Come now, Big D, would I lie to you?"  He didn't wait for a reply before entering his room and leaving his cousin, still glaring and clutching his buttocks, alone in the hallway.

As the door closed, however, Dudley surprised him by having the temerity to speak back to him.  "You must think things are going really well for you, _freak_, but don't get too comfortable," he said menacingly.  "I'd watch my back if I were you."

Leaning against the wall in his room, Harry felt a bit puzzled.  He was used the occasional "I'll tell Dad!" or "I'll hit you!", but Dudley sounded like he actually planned to deliver on this vague threat.  Perhaps threat was too strong a word, though.  This _was_ Dudley he was considering, after all.

…

Heather was floating lazily in the pool on a blow-up raft when Harry arrived that afternoon.  She sat up and waved when she saw him, but the sudden imbalance caused the raft to cave in and spill her into the water.  Taking advantage of the moment, he slipped out of his T-shirt and wrapped his wand, the Dursleys' spare key, and the pocketknife and small canister of pepper spray Heather had given him in its folds.  He couldn't help but laugh when Heather resurfaced with mascara smeared under her eyes, hand clutching her sunglasses and the waterlogged magazine she had been reading.  She laughed good-naturedly at her own clumsiness, then threw the soaked magazine at him.  Years of quidditch practice had honed his reflexes and he dodged it with ease, much to Heather's frustration. 

"Serves you right, lying around the pool all day while—"

Whatever Harry had been about to say was cut off when a pair of strong hands shoved him from behind.  He teetered precariously on the edge of the pool before gravity won out and he belly-flopped gracelessly into the sparkling water.  When he surfaced, spluttering and pushing at the mop of hair plastered to his face, all he could see was a blurry, tall, brown-haired figure.  There was a splash next to him as Heather's head emerged from the water.  She slipped his recovered glasses onto his face, and he could see clearly again, aside from the droplets of water still clinging to the lenses.

"Justin?"

"Hiya, Harry.  Nice trunks you got there," he said with a smirk.

Harry smiled but could feel his face redden.

"Oh, leave him alone you prat!" Heather laughed.  "I told him it would be alright if he borrowed them."

"I was joking!  They look better on you anyway, mate."

It felt surreal to see Justin in Privet Drive.  The only other time a schoolmate had come around to Harry's summer residence was when Ron and his family had come to pick him up for the Quidditch World Cup, and that experience had been just plain bizarre.  It didn't help that he didn't know quite how to act around the Hufflepuff when it was only the two of them and Justin's muggle girlfriend hanging out.  In addition, Harry still held a slight grudge against him for believing he was Slytherin's heir in second year and for being so cold to him in fourth year when he was named a Triwizard Champion alongside Cedric.  They had gotten along well in the D.A., though, and he supposed Justin deserved another chance now that they knew each other better.

After Justin helped fish Harry and Heather out of the pool, they each took a seat around the table on the deck.  More accurately, Harry and Justin took seats and Heather plopped down wetly on her boyfriend's lap. 

Not knowing quite how to start a conversation with Justin, Harry blurted the first thing that came to his mind.  "So what are you doing here today?"  He could have kicked himself as soon as the words came out. 

Justin's eyebrows quirked a bit at the blunt question before grinning lopsidedly.  "Well, I was hoping to get some alone-time with my favorite girlfriend while her mum was out today, but it looks like that might not work out quite like I planned…"

"Don't listen to him, Harry," Heather said, rolling her eyes.  "I told him on the phone last night that you'd be here today, and he wanted to hang out with us."

"Oh, er—well, it's good to see you Justin.  How's your summer been so far?" he asked.

A dark look passed fleetingly over Justin's face.  "Alright, I suppose.  Yours?"

Harry shrugged and waved his hand in a "so-so" motion.  The Hufflepuff nodded thoughtfully.  A moment of awkward silence passed between them, and Harry searched furiously for a muggle-appropriate conversation topic.

"Oh!" Justin exclaimed, jerking up a little straighter in his seat and jolting Heather, who had been examining her fingernails.  "How did you do on your O.W.—um, your _end of year exams_?" he asked conspiratorially.

"I got two Os, four Es, an A, a P, and a T.  How about you?"

"Three Os, two Es, three As, and a D.  I suppose one of your Os was in Defense Ag—Defense class.  What was the T in, though?" Justin inquired.

Harry glanced at Heather, who was watching them talk with only slight interest.  "Er…Astrology," he answered carefully.

That got Heather's attention.  "St. Brutus' has an Astrology class?" she interjected, her voice filled with wonder and suspicion. 

"Sure it does, Sweetie.  We may be brutes at dear old St. Brutus', but that doesn't mean we aren't in touch with the universe and the powers of the zodiac," Justin lied with ease.

Her eyes lit up.  "Cool!  Can you give me my horoscope?  No wait, tell me what the zodiac says about you and me."

Justin looked stumped.  "What do you mean?"

"Well, you're a...umm…oh, Capricorn, that's right, and I'm a Sagittarius.  How do our signs interact?" she questioned eagerly.

The look Justin gave her suggested he had just realized she was fairly mental.  Instead of answering, he patted the top of her wet head and turned back to Harry.  Heather turned in her boyfriend's lap to face him and stuck her tongue out childishly.

"So Harry, have you been practicing a lot this summer?  Your team's really going to need you next year after all the players you've lost lately."

Before Harry could worry about the complications of trying to discuss quidditch around a muggle without giving away the nature of the game, Heather stood up.

"Ugh.  Boys and their games.  Talking about exams and grades on a beautiful summer day like this is bad enough.  Honestly, I expected much worse behavior from you two," she clucked in disappointment.  "Sports are where I draw the line.  I'm going in to fix some lunch."

"The quickest way to scare Heather off is to talk sports." Justin explained as soon as she was out of hearing range.

Harry grinned.  "That's very sneaky for a Hufflepuff."

"Funny you should say that.  Can you keep a secret?"

"Sure," Harry replied, intrigued.

Justin leaned in as if worried someone was listening in on them.  "The Sorting Hat considered putting me in Slytherin."

Harry couldn't help it.  He burst out laughing, startling the Hufflepuff.  "What?  What's so funny?" Justin asked.

"Can _you_ keep a secret?" said Harry, still sniggering.

He watched in amusement as realization dawned on the other boy.  His eyebrows rose up slowly and his chin dropped, leaving his mouth in the shape of a perfect "O".  "You're not serious?!" he gasped.

"I am."

It was Justin's turn to laugh.  "That's…bloody hilarious!  The Golden Boy of Gryffindor, Triwizard Champion, Boy-Who-Lived—almost a Slytherin!  Good thing nobody knew back in our second year; we all thought you were the heir of Slytherin then even when we took for granted you belonged in Gryffindor.  Can you imagine how much more terrified everyone would have been?" he asked with a chuckle.

Thinking back to that time, however, Harry didn't find it all that funny.  The whole school had hated him then, Justin included, and at twelve years old it had felt painfully similar to his days in muggle primary school when Dudley's gang had scared off any potential friends.  He grimaced at the memory.

Justin realized his error and slapped his forehead with the palm of his hand to punish himself.  "Sorry Harry.  That was a stupid thing to say.  I was a prat back then...and in fourth year too.  Hell, I'm still a prat, but I'm trying to get better," he asked repentantly. 

"S'okay.  You weren't the only one who thought I was evil or trying to steal the limelight then." Harry said softly.

"Still doesn't make it right," the Hufflepuff said ashamedly.

Harry shrugged.  "We didn't know each other well back then.  Hopefully after working together in the D.A., people will be less likely to believe some of the rumors they hear."

Justin cheered up a bit at that.  "So you're going to continue it when we get back to Hogwarts, right?"

"Yeah, I suppose so."

"Great!  With Dumbledore back and all, we won't even have to have the meetings in secret anymore…actually, that's too bad.  I kind of got a kick out of rebelling against Umbridge."

Defying the old hag had given Harry a rush as well, but it was certainly the only good memory he had of her.  Before he could contribute to the Umbridge-bashing, Heather returned, balancing a platter of food on one open hand like a seasoned waitress.

"Hey, did you guys hear about Mark Evans?" she asked, setting the tray of cheese cubes, crackers and sliced fruit on the table.

"No, what happened to him?"  Harry remembered the boy as one of Dudley's victims from last year.

"Well, Mum got a gossip call this morning from a friend who has a friend who's a nurse at St. Andrew's Hospital, and _she_ said that Mark was in last night to be treated for a broken arm and a concussion.  Apparently he was attacked or something.  Poor kid's only eleven…Mum said the police were at the hospital to make a report and everything."

Harry winced.  He could relate to Mark Evans; it wasn't so long ago he had been the local outcast.  Word had it that the neighborhood thought Mark was the strangest resident of Privet Drive since "that Potter boy", and was therefore a magnet for bullying just as Harry had been.  Luckily, he had never received a bad enough beating to warrant a trip to the hospital, because the Dursleys probably wouldn't have taken him anyway.  _Wait—Dursleys…police report…_

Suddenly it all fell into place.  "So that's what Dudley was arrested for!"

"What?—" Heather exclaimed.

"Who?—" Justin asked.

He took the next few minutes to relate the story of his cousin's unhappy encounter with the law. 

"Oooh, next time I see that tub of lard, I'm going to make him cry," Heather bristled.

"That sounds wonderful, but your not even a third of his size," Harry reminded.

"No, I meant I'll get him with my tear gas," she clarified.  Popping a cube of cheddar cheese into her mouth, she added, "Then I'll have Mark Evans come over and give him a taste of his own medicine."__

…

The three were deeply engrossed in a terrifying muggle movie about a werewolf running rampant in Paris when Mr. Gaines came home from work.  Heather's father spared a disapproving glance at the boys sitting aside his daughter and shook his head disapprovingly.  Heather excused herself from the couch and stomped up to her disgruntled father.  The two began speaking in low, harsh tones.  However, they hadn't left the room and the two boys were able to catch the tail end of the argument.

"And you wonder why we send you to an all girls' school.  Do you know what these boys want?  I've told you before and I'll tell you again—they're all after _one_ _thing_."

Harry's jaw dropped and Justin bowed his head with a guilty expression on his face.  Heather snorted and threw her hands up in a "not this lecture again" expression.

Thinking of nothing but escaping before the conversation could become any more embarrassing, Harry suddenly cried, "Oh no!"  Everyone turned and looked at him in surprise.  Too late, he realized he hadn't yet thought of a polite excuse to give before making his exit.  Instead, he stood there opening and closing his mouth like a fish out of water, waiting for an idea to hit with everybody staring at him.

Fortunately, Justin caught on.  After angling himself so that Harry served as a human shield for him against Mr. Gaines, he supplied, "Right, Harry!  It's about time for…er…dinner!  We should be going."  Harry closed his mouth with a slap and nodded enthusiastically in agreement. 

Heather glared at them.  "Fine.  See you later, then," she said stiffly, before returning to the argument with her father.  As the door shut out the shouting behind them, Harry and Justin shared looks of relief and let out the breaths they had been holding.

 "I suppose I'll see you, then," said Harry.

"Yeah.  I'll have Heather give you my phone number in case you want to call.  I tried to send you a letter about the D.A. at the beginning of summer, but for some reason my owl can't deliver to your house."

"That would be the wards," Harry sighed.  "Come to think of it, I don't know if it's safe for you to walk home from here in the dark," he said, remembering Bellatrix's visit.

"Oh, please.  I'm a big boy, Harry.  Anyway, doesn't look like I have much choice," Justin replied.

As if on cue, Harry spotted a familiar old woman hobbling along the pavement a block away.

"Just a minute," he told the Hufflepuff.

Tonks saw him coming and tottered toward him.  "Wotcher Harry!  Who's your friend there?"

"Hey Tonks," he greeted.  "That's a friend from school—Justin.  I was actually wondering if you could help us out.  Justin lives out on Chrysanthemum Drive, and I reckon it's probably not a good idea for him to walk home alone at night with the Death Eaters lurking about and all…"

Tonks' old lady face crinkled in a pained wince.  "I don't know, Harry.  I'm not supposed to leave you alone, even for a few minutes."

"But I'm inside the wards; I'll be fine!  Justin could come across a Death Eater on the way home, and he'd be completely on his own!" Harry argued.

The Auror looked torn.  She looked from Harry's determined face to Justin, who was walking their way looking very confused.  "Alright, I'll walk him home, but only if you promise to go straight back to the Dursleys and stay there until I get back," she conceded.

Harry agreed immediately, and introduced Tonks to Justin, who had just caught up.  The metamorphmagus nearly scared Justin out of his wits when she squeezed her eyes shut and changed back to her true form mid-handshake.  He got over it soon, though, and Harry could hear him assaulting her with requests to change into the prime minister, Cindy Crawford, and a number of other people as they began the walk to his house. 

 …

True to his word, Harry hurriedly made his way back to the Dursleys.  He was passing by Number 6 when he first got the feeling he was being watched.  Sure enough, he caught a movement out of the corner of his eye as something or someone crept out from behind the hedge.  Reaching for his wand, but not drawing it, Harry spun around to face his stalker.

Piers Polkiss, his cousin's right-hand thug, strode toward him arrogantly, wearing an unpleasant grin.  He threw his hands up in mock-surrender.  "Damn, you caught me!" he declared.

"What do you want?" Harry asked with annoyance.  Piers didn't scare him, but he still didn't think it wise to turn his back on him.

"Is that any way to treat an old friend?" sneered the rat-faced teen.  "You know, it's been quite awhile since you came to _play_ with Big D and me.  We have a lot of catching up to do."  He stalked up to Harry, stopping inches from his face.  Harry stood his ground, but was forced to look up several inches to meet Piers' glare.

All of a sudden, Piers grabbed him by his right arm and yelled, "You can come out; he's not getting away now!"  Harry struggled to jerk his arm away, but the other boy was simply too strong.  Emerging from the same shrubs Piers had been hiding behind came four other large boys from Dudley's gang. 

_Too bad I made Tonks leave with Justin, _Harry lamented as Piers and his friends gathered eagerly around him. 

…

**A/N:**  This is my attempt at a cliffhanger, and also to end a chapter without Harry going to sleep for once.  The next update might take a few days longer, because I'll be spending four days up at my friend's summer house at a lake up in Michigan for her big 20th birthday bash.  There are no computers, or even phones up there, and I doubt I'll be writing by hand when there are jet skis to ride and hot dogs to roast over a bonfire with my good friends.  Sorry!  I'll make it up to you!


	15. Why Can't We Be Friends?

**Disclaimer:** Obviously, I didn't write the Harry Potter series. J.K. Rowling is responsible for those masterpieces, and I will always worship her for it. Please don't sue me. I'm already poor and all you'd get from me is a fifteen year-old TV, a futon and some clothes that fit me better than you. The only way you would get my computer is by prying it from my cold, dead fingers.

**A/N:** You all either have forgotten me or hate me by now for taking a century (or something like that) to update. Excuse time: I went to my friend's lake party, got back, and found the company that connects us to the internet via satellite terminated my family's account a lot earlier than we told them to. Therefore, we had no connection to the internet until about a week ago when we finally got the modems hooked up again and started up accounts with EVIL America Online again. Oh, to be back at college already where pages load in a snap...Anyway, I still should have updated a week earlier than I did, but don't worry; I've been punished. I deprived myself of mint-chocolate ice cream for dessert tonight, and will continue to do so until I get the next chapter up as well.

I've decided not to do reviewer responses until next chapter, because I got quite a few last chapter since I didn't update for so long. However, I must give a short reply to Dzeytoun, who gave me a very informative an honest review that has made me swear to get my act together (and I wouldn't want you to think I'm chickening out at responding to a bit of helpful criticism). So, Dzeytoun, this is for you: Thanks very much for pointing out the glaring error in chapter nine, which I think I attempted to fix right after reading what you said. You're right about my character development—I'm still very new at writing a story this long, and there are still many weak points in my writing.

Also, gohan/videlgoten/trunkslover, this chapter is dedicated to you, who reminded me to UPDATE. It didn't really motivate me too much, but the one word review did make me smile.

**Chapter 15: Why Can't We Be Friends?**

Ever since beginning Hogwarts, Harry had been virtually untouchable on Privet Drive due to Dudley's fear of magic. His cousin expressly forbade his friends to pester him in any way, terrified that the "freak" would retaliate by turning him into a pig or perhaps blow him up like he did Aunt Marge. However, judging by the malevolent smiles on the faces of the five gathering bullies, they had Dudley's permission, or maybe orders, to beat the stuffing out of him. While searching for an escape, he decided that in the future, avoiding his cousin altogether might be a good idea. He was obviously not as easily intimidated as Harry thought.

Once they had Harry surrounded, Piers released his bruised arm. Although he put on a façade of bravado, his insides were twisting with fear. The streetlamp illuminating his circle of attackers was too reminiscent of the moonlight shining down on the ring of Death Eaters on the night of Voldemort's rebirth. _I'm not helpless, and there are only five of them. I can't let them scare me into submission. _No matter what he told himself though, nothing changed the fact that he was just one scrawny boy, on his own in the dark.

As a boy nearly Dudley's size advanced on him with his meaty fist raised, Piers called out, "Any last words, Potter?" The rest of the gang laughed heartily before closing in. Harry tensed, edgy and poised to spring into action. Afraid or not, defense was second nature due to the many fights—muggle and magical—he'd been involved in since childhood.

Harry ducked the first fist and dodged a kick to his stomach. In his mind, he ran through his options. _I could scream bloody murder…Doubt anyone around here would help me, though. _He turned sideways to avoid a punch to the nose, but felt another hit glance off his shoulder. Sidestepping another fist that had been headed for his chest, he took advantage of the attacker's momentary vulnerability and threw all of his 130-plus pounds into a punch to the boy's right eye that knocked him back several steps with a holler of pain and surprise. _Blast them with magic—yeah, right, and get expelled…_Something struck him on the side of the face, knocking off his glasses and scraping his cheekbone.

Unable to see properly, he stumbled right into a punch powerful enough to split his lip. He pushed the pain to the back of his mind and tried to focus on Piers and the gang, but there were too many of them. All he could make out were large, blurry shapes and by the time he could make out the direction their hands and feet were headed, it was too late. A knee slammed into his midsection, and he crumpled to the pavement with a groan. He tried to get away, but there seemed to be feet and fists raining down upon him from every direction.

"C'mon, Potter, you could _try_ to make this a challenge!" jeered one of the nameless thugs, kicking him in the side.

Things were beginning to look very bleak indeed. If he didn't do something soon, he would end up in as bad of shape as Mark Evans. As a hard shoe slammed into his back, he reluctantly stuck his hand in his pocket to retrieve his wand. However, his fingers brushed a smooth, plastic surface and Harry was suddenly struck with another idea.

"He's already given up!" laughed Piers. The malicious teen bent down and grabbed a handful of his mussed hair, jerking Harry to sit. "Beg us to stop, and we might just leave you alone," Piers offered, kneeling down and looking at him with a mixture of glee and expectance.

Swallowing his pride, Harry choked out, "Please…"

"Please what?" urged Piers in power-hungry anticipation, above the gang's obnoxious guffawing.

"Please…brush your teeth before you open your mouth that close to my face again," Harry cheeked boldly.

Ignoring his plea, Piers growled, "You little bastard!" Harry could see the blurry outline of a raised fist and fought the urge to flinch.

"Okay, but you can't say I didn't ask nicely," Harry said with forced nonchalance. As Piers' fist descended upon him, he rolled to the left, leaving a few strands of ebony hair in the bully's clenched hand. Pain couldn't penetrate the adrenaline rush in his veins, though, as he finally caught his attackers off guard and whipped the pepper spray out of his pocket. Before the other gang members could react, he twisted the top off and sprayed directly into Piers' rodent-like face.

The bully jumped up and stood stock-still for a moment, blinking in surprise. The next second, he screeched in agony and began swiping and clawing frantically at his eyes. The other thugs backed away from Harry and their screaming friend as if they were carrying some kind of contagious disease.

"HELP! HELP!" shrieked Piers, staggering toward the rest of the gang. He was still pawing his eyes and blinking, only irritating them more.

The boy about Dudley's size, still backing away, lifted his fat arm to point at Harry. "W-what did you do to him?" he asked, trying and failing to sound commanding.

"Haven't you blokes ever seen pepper spray before? Honestly, I can't believe I'm the first person to use it on you. Come here, I'll give you another demonstration," said Harry, beckoning from his seat on the curb.

The four, one still holding his palm against his bruised eye, turned and ran in the opposite direction. The fat one had the nerve to shout back, "This isn't over, Potter!" as he ran. Piers cried out for his cowardly friends to wait, but ended up stumbling after them as none seemed inclined to stop. Harry thought about going after him—he was nearly blind at the moment, after all—but quickly realized he was not much better off.

The muscles in his stomach and back throbbed terribly as he crawled along the pavement in search of his glasses. _I really have to get contacts or something. Maybe wizards have some way to fix eyesight…_After a few minutes of blind groping, his fingers finally brushed the metal frame of his spectacles in the street gutter.

Harry pushed himself to his feet and could feel the aches and pangs of bruises forming all over his arms and legs. Nothing was broken, but lumps and scrapes dotted his body from head to toe. Overall he felt like he had been hit by the Knight Bus. Blood still dribbled down his chin from his split lip and stained the front of his shirt, and his clothes were covered in shoe prints and dirt. _Tonks'll__ go spare when she sees me like this._

Luckily, the fight had taken place practically next door to the Dursleys'. Even that short distance seemed like several kilometers to Harry, though. When he reached the doorstep, he sat down gracelessly, leaning his face against the cool, wrought-iron railing. Hopefully Tonks would turn up soon; he wanted nothing more than to barricade himself in the loo and sink into a hot bath to soothe his aching muscles.

He had been waiting about ten minutes when he noticed someone jogging up the dark street. Slowly, he stood, this time going straight for the pepper spray without sparing his wand a thought. Sure enough, the person was headed his way.

"Harry!"

It was Remus. Harry's breath caught in his chest as he agonized over all the possible reasons it wasn't Tonks hobbling up to him in disguise right now.

"Remus? What are you doing here—where's Tonks?" he asked fearfully when the werewolf reached him.

"Hang on," Remus panted, "Just ran all the way here from the wards." If Harry didn't know better, he would have thought the gaunt man with the silver-streaked hair, bent double and gasping for breath in front of him, was an escapee from the nearest nursing home.

Harry waited about three full seconds before launching into questions again. Seeing that he would not be deterred, Remus began to explain.

"Tonks is fine," he said breathlessly. Harry heaved a sigh of relief, and felt his heart rate slow instantly.

"Where is she then?"

Remus held up his index finger and drew in a few more large breaths before continuing. "A Death Eater attacked her and your friend as they were walking back to his house. Tonks said she heard the incantation for the Cruciatous Curse and threw herself and the boy out of the way in the nick of time. Good thing the idiot thought they were muggles, because she caught him completely by surprise when she drew her wand." Finally having caught his breath, Remus finally looked up and noticed Harry's ragged and bloody state.

"What happened to you?" he yelped, lifting Harry's chin up to examine his swollen, blood-encrusted lip. Harry gently pushed his hand away.

"I'll tell you as soon as you finish telling me what happened with Tonks and Justin."

Remus frowned, but continued the explanation. "Long story short, Tonks took the bloke down. You might even know him—Flint? The Aurors said he graduated Hogwarts just a few years ago."

"Marcus Flint?!" Harry exclaimed. "He was Slytherin's quidditch captain!" Thinking on it now, though, he didn't know why it surprised him so much that Flint would have joined Voldemort. He certainly seemed the type from what Harry could remember of his attitude and underhanded quidditch tactics. "So what happened to him after Tonks got him?"

"Well, right now I suppose he's in a holding cell waiting for the Ministry to set a trial date. He's the first Death Eater to be apprehended since the Department of Mysteries battle. There will be a few less unexplained muggle deaths in the papers from now on. Your friend was a little shaken up, but he's safe at home now. Kingsley Shacklebolt went with him to explain the situation to his parents and keep watch for the night just in case."

It pleased Harry to know that he hadn't gotten the stuffing knocked out of him for nothing. He shivered thinking about what would have happened to Justin had Tonks not been with him.

"I suppose the Ministry's really pleased with Tonks," Harry said distractedly, as he processed all that had happened in the last hour.

He was surprised by Remus' angry snort. "Oh, certainly. Fudge was ecstatic and praised her for about ten seconds before flooing straight to the Daily Prophet to inform them of the Ministry's latest victory over Voldemort. It's Dumbledore who's personally reprimanding her at the moment."

"What? Why?" Tonks had caught a Death Eater _and_ most likely saved Justin's life. Harry couldn't imagine what reason Dumbledore had to be angry with her for.

"She left you, unguarded, to walk home in the dark!" Remus pointed out, incredulously. "There is supposed to be someone watching out for you twenty-four hours a day!"

The last person Harry wanted to argue with was Remus, but he wasn't about to let the man accuse Tonks of negligence. "I asked her to go! If she hadn't been with Justin, he'd probably be dead right now! You said yourself that no one has a chance of breaking through Dumbledore's wards!"

"No, I said the chance of that happening was _slim_. The difference between no chance and slim chance in this case is life and death. It was Tonks' responsibility to find a temporary replacement while she walked your friend home, or else find someone else to go with him. The fact that you made it home without her makes no difference; she directly disobeyed orders. Besides, it looks like you could've used a guard tonight," Remus said sternly, indicating his puffy, bruised lip and all-around sloppy appearance. "The stage is all yours, Mr. Potter. What's your story?"

"I ran into some old friends."

"Must've run into them pretty hard, by the looks of it. Care to elaborate?"

Worry and frustration was already amplifying the pain of his injuries, and now it seemed to Harry that he was expected to give a play-by-play of the fight he had been in. At this rate, he would never get inside to tend his cuts and bruises. Nevertheless, Remus was looming over him with his arms crossed and an eyebrow arched. It made him feel like an errant child being forced to confess to some naughty deed.

"My cousin's gang ambushed me a few houses down while I was walking home. It's over now and it's no big deal."

A muscle twitched in the werewolf's jaw and his gaze intensified. The only thing that could have made him look more feral would be bared teeth and a raised ruff.

"What do you mean, 'no big deal'? Has this happened before?"

A funny noise, like a cross between a sniff and a laugh escaped Harry as memories of being chased by Dudley and his gang in schoolyards and around the neighborhood flashed through his mind. "Only all my life. Believe me, though, my cousin's best mate came away from it feeling loads worse than me."

"This isn't funny, Harry. Did you use your wand?" Remus asked worriedly. More to himself, he added, "Damnit, Tonks should have been there…the woman's turning into Mundungus."

The whole conversation was really beginning to wear on Harry's already frazzled nerves.

"I didn't use my wand. I don't see why you're being so peevish about this. Everything turned out all right—Justin's home, I'm home, and Flint isn't running around torturing muggles thanks to Tonks."

"I'm being so 'peevish' about this because you think that being outnumbered and pounded by a bunch of muggle bullies is no big deal! This is exactly why you need to be guarded!"

Remus was pushing all the wrong buttons tonight. Harry wasn't about to put up with being patronized and treated like some delicate, defenseless child when he had just proved he could handle himself against five bullies without using his wand. "I'm fine! I went thirteen years without anybody looking out for me, so please excuse me if the occasional bullying has become a bit trivial to me!"

It took the sound of deafening silence to alert him to the fact that he was nearly shouting. The worst thing was, he didn't really know why he was getting so defensive. Remus was only worried about him, and if anything he should have been grateful that someone cared. Most likely, his irritability stemmed from the feeling of overprotection, which was still relatively new. Up until Voldemort's rebirth, he had been free to do as he pleased and face the consequences of his decisions (at least during the summer). Now, his every step was dogged by some guard from the Order, and he was certain that Dumbledore had other ways of keeping an eye on him as well.

"I'm sorry you've had to deal with this all your life, Harry. This certainly isn't what your parents wanted for you, and it makes me wish Sirius or I could have taken you away much sooner," Remus said quietly, making Harry feel bad for his previous words. In retrospect, it sounded almost as if he was blaming Remus for his painful childhood.

To change the uncomfortable subject, Remus turned his attention back to Harry's injuries. "I suppose we should take you inside and patch you up," he said, tentatively laying a hand on Harry's elbow and guiding him to the door.

Harry blew out a heavy breath of air and let Remus lead him into the house. "It's not your fault. I'm sorry for being so tetchy lately—I'm just tired of everything being so complicated. I just wish everything could go back to how it was a few years ago when all I had to worry about was looking for trouble with Hermione and Ron at Hogwarts and hiding from my relatives here while I waited for the Weasleys to come to my rescue. Now I have guards following me everywhere, the wizarding world is on the brink of war, and I'm expected to…" The words died in his mouth the moment he realized what he had been about to say.

That was all it took to spark Remus' suspicion, though. "You're expected to what?" he asked, pulling Harry into the kitchen without even noticing Aunt Petunia who was putting the finishing touches on a huge chocolate pudding. When she spotted the intruders, she gasped in fright and raced from the room, only to run back in quickly once she realized she had forgotten to take the dessert with her.

Could he tell Remus about the prophecy? He found that he really wanted to, but didn't know if he was even allowed. After Harry had finally been told, Dumbledore hadn't really given him instructions on what to do with the information..._Wait a minute; since when did I start waiting for instructions from Dumbledore to make my decisions? He won't even let me be part of the Order, so it's not like I'm sworn to secrecy. _

Sooner or later, he would have to tell someone. The secret was already weighing heavily on him, and it could only get worse once he got back to the wizarding world. There was also no chance that he'd be seeking counsel on the matter with Dumbledore in his sixth year—not after Harry had learned just how secretive and manipulative the man could be. If there was anyone left he trusted to talk to about his role according to the prophecy, it was Remus.

"If I tell you a secret, can you swear not to tell anyone about it without my permission?" Harry asked, just to be sure.

The suspicious look increased as Remus slowly answered, "Of course," then hesitantly, "Is it something Dumbledore should know about?"

"He already knows, but he's the only other person who does. Remus, this has to do with why Voldemort's always been after me and what happened at the Department of Mysteries."

"I promise not to tell a soul," Remus said, this time with certainty.

Harry walked to the counter and pushed up with his arms to take a seat on the edge of it, feet dangling just above the linoleum. "You might want to get comfortable then; this might take a little while."

…

When he finished explaining, it felt like nearly an hour had gone by. Remus was understandably upset and much more worried for Harry after hearing the prophecy for himself, and seemed at a loss for what to do. Surprisingly, his first move was to reach out and wrap his thin arms around Harry's shoulders in a strong hug. It was uncomfortable for Harry, who didn't feel completely at ease even when Hermione hugged him, but Remus obviously needed the contact so he patted the man on the back in return. When he finally drew back, Remus rested his hands at the base of his neck and looked Harry squarely in the eye.

"I know this prophecy sounds dreadful—I don't think it's really sunk in yet for me, and the implications are already terrifying enough—but we'll get you through this. It doesn't say you can't have help, and if anyone can count on their friends, you can," he said reassuringly.

Harry just nodded, hoping that Remus was right.

"I'm glad you told me this, Harry, and I'm glad you feel that you can trust me. Honestly, I can't see how you kept it a secret for so long. It must have been eating you up inside."

"It does feel good to tell someone else about it," Harry admitted. It was the truth, although every time he thought about or spoke the words of the prophecy, a lump formed in his throat and his mind seemed to freeze up with dread.

"Well, we'll figure out what to do about this. In the meantime, do you think you could try to abstain from your yearly meetings with Voldemort? It would be much better if you got some time to train before you ran into him again," Remus joked poorly, trying to lighten the mood. His forced smile wasn't enough to hide the worry wrinkles around his fear-filled eyes.

Playing along, Harry allowed a faint smile to grace his face as he said, "I'll try to restrain myself."

The rest of Remus' time at Number Four was spent bandaging Harry's many wounds and applying ice packs to some of the larger bumps. Once he was satisfied that he had done a job satisfactory of a muggle healer, Remus disappeared outside for a minute. When he returned, he walked right past the kitchen where Harry was waiting, and marched straight into the living room where the Dursleys were avidly watching some moronic television show.

Harry wandered in after him, arriving in time to see Remus holding out a hand crawling with something and speaking softly to Dudley, who sat riveted in his recliner. Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon watched from the couch, panicked but not daring to interfere and make the situation any worse.

Holding an ice pack to a throbbing bump on the side of his head, Harry edged further into the room to listen in.

"I'll take them outside and turn them back as soon as you swear to tell them to stay away from Harry. They won't even remember what happened." Remus said slowly and clearly, as if speaking to a young child.

"I—I swear," muttered Dudley, eyes wide and glazed with fear.

Looking closer, Harry realized the things crawling all over Remus' palm were five lightning bugs, which he must have summoned from the yard when he left the kitchen. Apparently he was pranking Dudley into thinking he had changed his gang into harmless insects, and could leave them that way if he liked. Harry smirked. _Once a Marauder, always a Marauder._

The Dursleys looked very relieved when Remus finally left the room, with the exception of Dudley, who was so petrified that he was staring stupidly, fat jaw hanging at a commercial on the telly. Vernon still had the dignity to glare menacingly at Harry, but wasn't about to risk saying anything nasty to him. Harry just smiled as well as his split lip would allow and shrugged, before leaving to say goodbye to Remus.

At the front door, Remus gave Harry another awkward hug.

"Don't worry too much over that prophecy. They're tricky things and can often be misinterpreted. For now, just relax, read your books, and remember that you'll be out of here in no time. I've decided to leave the rest of the housework for after I bring you back with me. Painting your room will have to wait until you get there. If you need me, I'll be in the neighborhood. I just don't feel comfortable leaving you here again, even with a guard to watch you."

"I'll be fine," Harry said, rolling his eyes. "But thanks for caring, anyway," he added as an afterthought. "Tell Tonks I'm sorry she got in trouble for me, will you?"

Remus scowled but nodded. "I'll pass the message along. Take care; I'll be around

…

**A/N: **You all deserve much better than this; I know. I'm working hard to get the next chapter out sooner, and to make it longer as well.


	16. Warning Sign

**Disclaimer:** Obviously, I didn't write the Harry Potter series. J.K. Rowling is responsible for those masterpieces, and I will always worship her for it. Please don't sue me. I'm already poor and all you'd get from me is a fifteen year-old TV, a futon and some clothes that fit me better than you. The only way you would get my computer is by prying it from my cold, dead fingers.

**A/N: **Okay, I'm done making promises and estimates on updates because I really hate letting people down. The muses are really just not very fond of me AT ALL. About half of this chapter was very easy to write, but the other half was terribly tedious. Hopefully it's not enough of a letdown to make you give up on me completely! Now, on with the review responses. The reason I put these at the beginning is so that people can tell how much of this is author's notes and how much is actually the chapter. Be warned: I skipped these last chapter so they'll be very long this chapter.

**Phat Paul: **Yes, Justin's role is a bit bigger in this story than in canon. Thanks for the encouragement!

**Wind Whisperer: **This is only a summer after fifth year fic. There will be a sequel, but I seem to be running on J.K.'s clock right now, so it will be awhile before I get to it. I want to do a lot more planning for the next one, because I feel there are a lot of errors in this fic do to the fact that I'm kind of just winging it. Fear not, Harry and Justin will talk more!

**Wiccan PussyKat: **You were right about Mark Evans, yes. Thanks for the advice with Britishisms, although I was hoping more for slang terms and things like that. Pretty please? Anyway, my take on Justin is that he's grown a lot in the last few years (as teenagers tend to do) and is ashamed of being a prat in the past. As for the Sorting Hat, personally I think that it's impossible to categorize people so easily. No one is _only _brave, or _only _clever, or _only _cunning…Part of the beauty of being human is that we have incredibly complex personalities and annoyingly contradictory emotions. Harry happens to be brave and a bit rebellious on top of his many other characteristics. Justin is hardworking and devoted to his friends, but is also sneaky in that he'll do a lot to be _with _his friends. If you stick around another ten years for my sequel, I have an idea for the Sorting Hat. Okay, ch. 15 review: Sorry to disappoint, but Death Eaters haven't breached the wards…doesn't mean they _can't_, though…well at least I think they might be able to…hmmm…My original Harry/Remus talk was actually much longer and had a lot more anger on Harry's part, but it seemed out of place so I chopped it.

**Chipper1: **Ooooh, I like you! Your favorite parts to read are my favorite parts to write! Sorry for the complete lack of Ron and the Weasleys so far, I know letters just don't do it. That's why I'm working Ron into chapter 17, whether it makes sense or not! Just kidding, it will make sense. Sorry about the review that didn't send—that's happened to me before, and it makes me just want to rip my hair out and throw the computer out the window…I have violent tendencies…

**Ootp-rules: **Someone who knows the difference between their, there and they're! Your kind are few and far between! I can't believe I did that—I must have been really tired. And did I really put "wonderfull" somewhere? You have a sharp eye…Would you consider being a beta for my sequel? So true about Justin being a good candidate for Slytherin because of his suspicious tendencies, by the way! And I really don't deserve those brownies you offered.

**Von: **Good! Another sadist, like me! Hope the fight between Harry and Big D's gang satisfied, and I hope you enjoyed your Wheatbix.

**Goldilocks31890: **I find a lot of stories through my favorite authors' picks too. Glad you like this story. I would really like to send Harry to a party, too, but it would probably be too unrealistic and I doubt he would enjoy it much. Maybe I'll do a cookie on it someday; it would be fun to get him totally smashed, I think. I'm also glad you like Heather—I'm pretty inexperienced with developing my own characters so that's nice to hear.

**Lizliterarius: **I loved your thoughts on J.K.'s spells pinpointing the "nature of our beings". Very well put! J.K. is such a genius. My guess for the Half Blood Prince is that the title is referring to Godric Gryffindor. We don't know much about him, and he's the only person we know of that I can think of who literally could have been a prince. Gryffindor wasn't a pureblood, was he? I can't remember if J.K. said or not…You're right about ice cream feeding the muses; I've been dieting and unable to eat it, so the muses abandoned me!

Thanks to **Kaya1, ChicLoCCa, Sweet Sakura Curls, Dzeytoun **(Heather's mostly for comic relief. Harry is definitely not a normal teen, and this is certainly not canon, but if I didn't give Harry a chance to at least pretend to be normal, the grief he is trying to deal with would probably just swallow him up. What use would he be to my plans for him them?winkwink)**, volleypickle16, curiousity killed the rat, Omagic, cintishortstop, Kjkit, Mooncinder **(sorry! Blame the muses! As for the gang, Harry's safer just staying out of their way)**, Jarvey **(Harry appreciated your enthusiasm!)**, Adenara Yatman **(Mark Evans will not be related to Harry, but he will play a part)**, Otaku freak **(more anti-Dumbledoreness coming up!)**, LunaLovegood61, tansy1354 **(Harry and Justin hardly ever talk in canon, but I figured with he and Harry being the only wizards around, they'd become a little closer)**, angel74, Siriuslyfun19212, jbfritz, gaul1, Lady Phoenix Slytherin, MissPanther, hazardous, spiffycool, JD22, Lilrebelgirl, DiggaDigga, LunaShadows **(I like the suspicion, but it really was Remus)**, DeathWynd** (you deserve a lot more than I give you!)**, stephnaie, Rhiane Raine, **and **tristhe. I hope you all enjoy this chapter! Once again, apologies for the terribly long wait.**

**Chapter 16**: **Warning Sign**

_Distractus._

Jab, swish, jab. A spell to create sparks, smoke puffs, and other distractions to impair an attacker's judgment.

_Labora momenta._

Aim, circular swish, jab. A difficult but effective jinx to significantly reduce the power of opponent's spells.

_Tegoprotectus._

Zig-zag line, wand wave over entire body. A defensive spell to create an invisible blanket of protection that could absorb the shock of many curses and jinxes, although it usually only lasted a short time.

_Corrosis argentum._

Twist, jab, flick of the wrist. This was a spell Harry had been practicing so long he didn't need to recite its purpose in his head. Largely forgotten due to the variety of its use, the only reason he knew about it was because he had spent many hours searching for a special spell to use on a certain someone with a silver hand. When he stumbled across corrosis argentum in one of his books, he knew it would be the perfect way to combat Peter Pettigrew. The way the spell worked was to conjure an acid that corroded and ate away at silver. Although not originally designed for use against a silver hand gifted by a Dark Lord, Harry fervently hoped it would not only eliminate Pettigrew's greatest strength, but hurt a great deal as well. He had done all he could short of actually casting the spell to assure himself he would be capable of performing it if—or _when, _if he could arrange it—the time came.

Harry had been studying his books and practicing a variety of curses, jinxes, and defense spells several hours a day since he was again alone on Privet Drive. The Aurors from the Ministry had asked that Justin stay away from the area since the attack, for his own safety of course. It didn't seem to make any difference that the Death Eater had gone after Justin and Tonks outside the Privet Drive wards, as the Hufflepuff had angrily remarked to Harry over the phone, explaining why he could not visit again. Realistically, Harry knew Justin would be safer if he spent all his time within the protection of the wards rather than his own home. It was no use trying to argue the matter with the Ministry, however, given their history of stubbornly refusing to listen to reason, as well as having Fudge as their leader. It reminded him of a quote he had heard once; "Never underestimate the power of stupid people in large groups."It was perhaps a little harsh, but honestly—any Auror with an ounce of common sense was or would eventually be working for the Order of the Phoenix, anyway.

Going to Heather's house was also not an option for the time being. Her family had left on an impromptu vacation two days after his and Justin's visit. The ten day sightseeing trip to Scotland was supposedly all Mr. Gaines' idea. Heather insisted "the wrinkled, cold-hearted tyrant" was trying to decimate her social life and keep her from any contact with the opposite sex. The whole time Harry had been nodding sympathetically in agreement, he was really trying to hold back his irrational anger at her for being so shallow. He would have given anything—_well, almost anything,_ he thought, picturing the Dark Mark burning on his arm—to have his parents around, even if they were overprotective to the point of being smothering. Naturally, he felt bad immediately afterward for thinking badly of the person whose company had kept him sane that summer. Besides, maybe he would feel the same way as Heather if their situations were reversed. What did he know about families and the ways they expressed love?

Life with the Dursleys certainly hadn't taught him about the love of a family. The only emotions they had to spare on him were hatred and resentment; they wasted all their love on the unresponsive leech that was Dudley. Despite his propensity to break down into tears at a moments notice, the crying fits were obviously faked and only served to get him what he wanted. Harry couldn't remember any instance from the near past that his cousin had shown any sort of gratitude or care for either of his parents.

As a child, it had baffled him that Dudley squirmed and fought to escape kisses and hugs from his parents. As someone who couldn't recall _ever_ receiving such a token of affection, hugs and kisses had more value than all of Dudley's expensive toys in his young mind. Every night, staring into the wispy cobwebs in the corner of his cupboard, he had wished and occasionally prayed for someone to love him. Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon didn't seem likely candidates, but at the time he had still hoped that they would someday realize what a well-behaved, _good_ boy he was compared to Dudley.

That hope had been extinguished one day when he had made the grave mistake of trying to comfort Petunia. He had been four years old when he had wandered by the living room and noticed her crying softly into her hands. Aside from the fact that no one ever comforted him when he was sad, he had seen his aunt and uncle hug Dudley when he threw his bawling fits, and sometimes it helped. In his naïve mind, it had made sense to hug Aunt Petunia since he was the only person around to do it. Quietly crawling onto the couch to reach her, he had wrapped his small arms around her long, thin neck and said, "It's okay, Aunt P'tunia."

He could still remember the shock, embarrassment, and inferiority he felt when she had shoved him roughly to the floor. "Don't touch me!" she had shrieked. "You aren't my son! You're nothing but a curse upon my family to make us miserable! The least you can do is stay out of my way and keep your filthy hands to yourself!" That experience was all it took to forever wipe away any hope he ever had of being a part of the Dursley family. Petunia had made their opinion of him very clear, and made sure to reinforce it daily in both cruel words and hurtful actions.

_Speak of the devil,_ Harry thought as he heard the door slam downstairs, announcing Petunia and Dudley's return from his "meeting". The Dursleys insisted upon calling the twice-a-week, mandatory anger management classes "meetings". The classes were part of Dudley's punishment for assaulting Mark Evans, as well as two months probation and one hundred hours of community service. Although Harry enjoyed the thought of his cousin enduring the torture of hours of picking rubbish off the streets and sharing his non-existent feelings with a group of strangers, he didn't see how it would solve Dudley's real problem. His cousin didn't beat up helpless kids for because he was angry—he did it because of the sense of power and control it gave him. _At least Voldemort has the excuse of a screwed up childhood._

Boredom really was taking hold if he was passing the time drawing comparisons between his cousin and Voldemort. It was either that or staring at the empty walls of his room feeling sorry for himself. Walks around the neighborhood had lost their appeal now that his guards were so cautious they trailed so closely behind him that they occasionally tread right on his heels—literally. He could always study more, but he had been reading so long that he thought he could actually feel his brain hurting.

"Harry!" yelled Aunt Petunia, her voice so shrill it sounded like she was screaming in his ear rather than at the bottom of the stairs.

Wondering why she had used his given name instead of his more common label of 'Boy', he shouted, "What?"

"You have a phone call!" she snapped back.

That explained the relative politeness; Petunia wouldn't want word spreading that he was being treated unsatisfactorily. As far as she knew, if whoever was on the phone suspected anything, they might tell Dumbledore and she would lose her payment for 'caring' for him.

The bed creaked dangerously as he jumped up and bolted out the door. He felt a little lightheaded as he descended the stairs two at a time; it was the first exercise he'd had in days. The thought that Dudley hadn't had that much exercise in years made him feel a little better about his recent slacking in the physical activity department.

Petunia was waiting for him in the kitchen, looking extremely put out at being inconvenienced by his caller in the beginning of making dinner.

"Who is it?" he asked as he took the phone from her.

"How should I know?" she snarled, as if offended he would think anyone who called for him mattered to her. Harry sent her a scathing glare as he put the phone to his ear. Petunia sneered back, looking uncannily like Professor Snape, before turning around to check the stew simmering on the stove. Maybe if she had been a witch, she would have been a Potions professor.

"Hello?" He lowered his voice, noticing his aunt looked intent on remaining in the room. She was either more interested in his friends than she let on, or she wanted to make sure he didn't poison the dinner.

"Well, it's about time!" teased a female voice. "Your aunt lied, by the way. I gave her my name—I think she was just disappointed because she thought I was calling for Dudley."

"Hermione! You're back!"

She let out a small laugh that made Harry smile even wider. At that point, Petunia must have decided seeing him on _her_ phone and happy to boot was too much to bear. Donning a pair of kitchen mitts, she took the stew off the stove and walked primly to the dining room.

"I'm back. You did get my letter, didn't you? I said I'd be home on the twenty-third…"

"Yeah, I got it. I suppose I just lost track of time." Was it really the twenty-third already? In the past week he had spent living like a hermit, the hours had melted together. "Anyway, it's so good to hear from you! I didn't know you had my phone number! How was your trip?"

"You gave it to me after second year, remember? And my trip was fantastic, thanks. I have so much to tell you and Ron! Going to China was like stepping into another world! Everything was so different—the architecture, language, fashions—not to mention the magical community…I'll wait to tell you about it all when Ron's with us, though, so I don't bore you with the same stories twice. Oh, and I can't wait to give you your birthday present! I got it in Hong Kong. I hope you'll like it."

"I'm sure it's great, Hermione." And he was. Even if the present was bottled Hong Kong air, it would beat any gift the Dursleys had ever given him hands down. Fresh misery welled up in him at the thought of turning sixteen in a week with the Dursleys and without Sirius. Too bad he couldn't leave with Remus a few days early; the last birthday he would ever spend with his relatives would probably be the worst as well.

"Well, enough about me. How are _you_ doing, Harry?" Hermione asked meaningfully. He could tell by her tone that she was asking about more than his health.

"I'm g—" He had begun to say 'good', but remembered that Hermione was much too perceptive to believe that lie. "I'm alright," he modified. It wasn't quite a lie; he was alright most of the time. The times that he felt so sad, furious, and cheated that he wanted to tear apart Dumbledore's office all over again were slowly becoming fewer and farther between.

Hermione remained silent, but Harry could imagine her at the other end of the line, frowning and chewing her lip as she debated the best way to approach the subject of Sirius. When she finally spoke again, he could hear her hesitation.

"If you ever need to talk about it—er, _him_, I'm here. I can't imagine how you feel right now, but I'll try my best to understand."

Grimly, Harry replied, "I hope you never have to understand. I don't really want to talk about it right now—" _or ever, _"but it really helps to, er, know you're there. So, er, thanks," he added bashfully, but with complete sincerity. He never would have thought that it could be so hard just to _talk about_ talking about Sirius.

As was usual for him when thinking about Sirius, a familiar numbness flowed through him. Even though he was beginning to accept his death, he had the feeling he would always feel a bit of the rage and pain associated with it. It was strange, though, how he could feel so senseless and lonely missing his godfather, but at the same time be so comforted and hopeful talking to Hermione and knowing she would be there for him come hell or high water.

"Oh Harry, you don't have to thank me for that." Her voice cracked, and Harry prayed that she wouldn't cry. Luckily, she cleared her throat a few seconds later and he could practically hear her composing herself.

"So, what have you been doing to keep busy this summer?" she asked with a sniffle.

Harry was thankful for the change in subject. He ended up telling her all about meeting Heather, some of the new spells he had learned, and Dudley's encounter with the law. He even told her a little about Sirius' will, despite the lump that formed in his throat bringing it up, at which point Hermione jumped in.

"That reminds me! Sirius actually left me something, also. I didn't find out about it until this morning."

"Mind if I ask what it is?" He was a little surprised, but oddly pleased, to hear that Sirius had thought of Hermione in his will.

"Well, that's the thing—I don't actually know what it is. All I received was a scroll with a short note from Sirius and a password for some sort of safe. It's supposed to be in his old room at Grimmauld Place. Do you think Remus would let you go with me to pick it up before we leave for Hogwarts?"

"Sure, I don't see why not. Who do you suppose Sirius left Grimmauld Place to?" Harry wondered aloud.

"My guess would be Dumbledore. He hated the place, and I don't think he would've wanted you to inherit a house that held so many of his bad memories. It's so dark and decrepit, anyway—about all it's good for is Order meetings. Of course, they'll have to find a way to control Kreacher before the meetings will be secure," Hermione mused.

At the mention of the traitorous house elf, Harry's eyes narrowed and his grip on the phone tightened unconsciously. "I can think of plenty of ways to control Kreacher. Strangling, drowning, beheading—"

"_Harry_," Hermione growled.

"—poisoning, Dementor's kiss—"

"That last one would be sort of difficult to arrange, considering the Dementors won't take orders from us," Hermione interjected.

Harry laughed. Leave it to Hermione to seriously consider everything. "Well, I'm sure we could bribe Fudge to order one for us," he joked.

"You're kidding, right?"

"Well, as much as I wish I could get Kreacher kissed, I really don't think Fudge would accept any bribes from me considering our history," he said sarcastically.

"Oh, Harry! How could you not know? I heard about it three days ago, and I was still in _China_!" she cried.

Now he was confused. "Not know what? What happened?"

"It's been in wizarding papers all over the world! The Dementors abandoned Azkaban on July 19th, and eighty-seven prisoners disappeared with them. All that was left were the bodies of the five wizards that were on watch and the prisoners who were too stark-raving mad to escape!"

"I suppose Lucius Malfoy and the other Death Eaters from the Department of Mysteries escaped?" he asked, although he already knew the answer.

"Of course," Hermione answered with a hint of anger in her voice.

The shame of getting his friends hurt and getting Sirius killed bore down on him even more heavily now that absolutely nothing good had been accomplished in the act. The captured Death Eaters were free, the Dementors had turned, and Voldemort was ready to strike…At least the world knew that he was back now. That was the one positive in the whole mess, and Harry clung to it.

Although Dumbledore had predicted that Voldemort would eventually call upon the Dementors to rejoin his ranks, the news still stunned him. Assuming all the escaped prisoners were now working for the Voldemort, his army was probably strong enough to rival the Ministry and the Order of the Phoenix combined. The Dementors probably tipped the scales in the Dark Lord's favor.

What was really frightening was the fact that the wizard components of the Azkaban guard had been unable to stop the break. They should have been extra prepared and cautious since they had Dumbledore's warning. On that train of thought, there should have been more than just five human guards. _Unless Fudge was true to character and continued to ignore Dumbledore's advice…_

Dreading the response he might get, Harry asked, "Did Fudge happen to make any comments in the article?"

Hermione let out an unladylike snort and confirmed Harry's fears. "Like he could bear to stay out of the spotlight. He said that it was completely unexpected that the Dementors would desert Azkaban and stop taking orders. However, he has a solution that sounds simply _brilliant_ in the works…"

"What is it?" Harry groaned.

"The Ministry plans to send out fliers by owl that explain the Patronus charm and tips to defend against Dementors," she said in a way that conveyed exactly how ludicrous she thought the idea was. "As if _anyone_ could learn to conjure a Patronus just by reading a piece of parchment. And even if they could, what good does that do a muggle who can't use a wand or even _see_ them?"

"Well surely Dumbledore said something?" With the Minister still acting like an idiot, surely the head of the Order would step up with some advice that was actually useful.

"The only comment Dumbledore made in the article was that the breakout was a very unfortunate and unexpected incident, but people should remain calm and vigilant."

"But Dumbledore told Fudge this would happen! Why would he say it was unexpected?" Harry exclaimed.

Hermione sighed wearily. "I suppose he thinks that it's better that people be allowed to believe that Fudge knows what he's doing. Can you imagine the panic if they found out there was more he could have done to prepare and didn't?"

"That panic is probably nothing compared to what _will_ happen when the prat gets his soul sucked out because of his stupid pride," he retorted, although it was far more likely the innocent would be the first to suffer for the Minister's mistakes.

The conversation only lasted a few minutes longer when Hermione's parents called her away for dinner. The Dursleys were nearly done with their own meal, and unsurprisingly, they hadn't saved any for Harry. He didn't have much of an appetite anyway, so he just grabbed a hunk of cheese out of the refrigerator and an apple to eat in his room. Although it was still slightly early in the evening to go to bed, the news Hermione had delivered somehow made him feel very tired. As he drifted off to sleep, he wondered how long it would be before victims of the Dementors' kiss began showing up in the Daily Prophet.

…

_The residents of Privet Drive were shouting, screaming, and crying as they were burned out of their houses and rounded up like cattle to be slaughtered by the Death Eaters. Whatever Harry had known them to be before this night—rich or poor, kind or selfish—now they were all united in their helplessness. He watched with increasing dread as the dark figures raised their wands in preparation. _

_Although having no way of knowing the wooden sticks were about to end their lives, the muggles seemed to sense the danger of being on the receiving end of one. Parents grasped their sobbing children to them tightly, trying to shield them from whatever was about to happen. Others seemed to realize that resistance was futile as they stood before their burning homes, looking into the masked faces of an enemy they hadn't known they had. There was no defiance among the doomed; they seemed to accept there was no way to fight a foe capable of destroying a building with a single word. Harry could tell, as their eyes darted wildly around, that they were waiting for the police, a hero, _someone_ to show up and save the day. No one was coming._

_There was not a single word spoken to the muggles. It was as if the Death Eaters only considered wizards human enough even for taunting. The people lined up before them were on the same level as cockroaches in Voldemort's and their eyes; filthy infestations to be exterminated quickly and efficiently._

_Two words sent dozens of lifeless bodies falling gracelessly to the ground. Mothers, fathers, children, even infants were cleanly slaughtered in the blink of an eye. Harry tried to turn away or even just close his eyes, but he had no control in this nightmare. He tried Occlumency to no effect; whether it was because he simply could not concentrate or because Voldemort was not responsible for the dream he did not know. What he did know was that looking at all the corpses much longer would make him sick. _

_Not wasting a moment to contemplate the horror of the acts they had committed, the Death Eaters moved onto the next houses. Muggles were already trying to flee before they were forced to succumb to the same fate as their neighbors, but stunners shot them quickly off their feet._

_As the Death Eaters continued their massacre, Harry found himself able to move freely again. Spinning full circle, he was suddenly in view of a familiar house. Number Four was engulfed in flames, looking ready to crumble any second. Three charred bodies, two very large and one smaller, lay side by side in the yard._

_Without needing to think about it, Harry turned and ran. It seemed only seconds later he was watching fire devour Heather's home. She and her parents were kneeling before another Death Eater, looking panicked and disbelieving. Harry was once again inexplicably stuck in place, forced to do nothing but watch. Heather looked up at him, the tear tracks on her cheeks the only parts of her face clear of soot._

_"Help us," she whimpered hopefully, a millisecond before a green flash of light struck her square in the chest._

_A strangled cry from his own throat was drowned out by the anguished screams of Heather's parents. Heroics were the last thing on his mind as he watched twin jets of light whisk the life right out of Mr. and Mrs. Gaines. Their empty bodies crumpled in place, arms still wrapped around their daughter and faces frozen not in surprise, but incomprehensible grief._

_"It's all for you, you know," stated a cruel voice, matter-of-factly. Sharp fingernails bit into his shoulder and wrenched him around so that he was facing the penetrating, red-eyed gaze of his lifelong adversary. With the image of Heather and her family's last moments stuck in his head, his mind was devoid of witty comebacks or plans of escape. He began to feel light-headed, the pain of his now burning scar minor compared to the knives slicing into his stomach and the building nausea. Blackness began to hedge his field of vision, and he felt like he was about to pass out._

_"Before you go, know that your mudblood and muggle-loving friends are already dead," he heard Voldemort say as he felt himself falling. "And believe me when I say their demises were far from the painless deaths I so graciously bestowed upon these fools."_

...

The moment Harry hit the ground in his dream, he was shocked awake by the imaginary impact. Consciousness had not taken away his nausea or the sickening images of corpses littering the burning neighborhood, however. Holding a hand tightly over his mouth, he made a mad dash for the bathroom, gagging the whole way.

The instant he reached the toilet, he began heaving the entirety of his stomach contents. Luckily, all there was to lose was the meager supper of an apple and cheese. More painful than his burning throat and clenching stomach were the terrifying images from the nightmare that were now imprinted in his mind. As he collapsed in dry heaves, he had to force himself to stop the tears streaming from his tightly-shut eyes.

_Just a dream. _He repeated the words over in his head like a mantra, but still couldn't make them sink in. He knew it was stupid, but he was afraid if he looked out the bathroom window the world would be on fire like it was in the nightmare. Stupid or not, he had to know.

Pushing himself tiredly to his feet, he forced his shaky legs to carry him to the window. Number Two and Number Six looked perfectly normal; no flames bursting from the windows, no dead bodies lying limp on the nicely landscaped lawn. The reassurance that the neighborhood was not under attack did not loosen the tension Harry felt. Something about the dream was still nagging at him…

_"It's all for you, you know." _Bile rose in his throat, and it took an incredible effort to fight the urge to vomit again. He wanted so badly to forget the whole nightmare, but there was something important in it, he was sure of it.

_"Before you go, know that your mudblood and muggle-loving friends are already dead." _

That was it. Voldemort wouldn't just kill him straight off when he could make him suffer through losing the last people he cared about in the world first—he had to help them. But what if it was just another one of Voldemort's tricks? Privet Drive wasn't under attack like it was in the dream, so it was likely nothing else in it was true either.

The timing was too perfect, though. Hermione had just gotten home, and probably made a much easier target there. He thought he remembered Remus saying something about the Weasleys moving back into the Burrow, which was much more vulnerable than Grimmauld Place.

Harry didn't know what to do. Dumbledore would want to know about the dream immediately, but Ron and Hermione might not have that much time. If Voldemort was telling the truth, it was already too late. That possibility, however, was unacceptable.

Images of the Weasleys and Hermione being tortured and killed flashed through his mind, and the decision was made. Smart move or no, his friends came first. Now he just had to figure out how to reach them.

**...**

**A/N:** So there it is: another cliffy. Sorry! Had to _try _to make it interesting, or else people will decide I'm simply not worth the wait. Who am I kidding—I'm _not_ worth the wait, but I'm enjoying writing this so I'll keep going anyway!


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